


A Star in Your Constellation

by peasantswhy



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi, Slow Burn, War, parenting, trauma/recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 80,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12809193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasantswhy/pseuds/peasantswhy
Summary: Three elves find each other after a long, hard road.Sequel to Ulan's "Arda Marred" Series.





	1. Celebrían

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Arda Marred](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333289) by [Ulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/pseuds/Ulan). 



> So I read Ulan's "Arda Marred" series and it broke my heart. So I wrote a sequel.  
> Special thanks to Ulan, you work is a delight and thanks so much for encouraging me!  
> Note: This takes place directly after "Arda Marred", and "All Eru's Children" happens sometime during chapter 2.

Celebrían

Midnight hung in cobwebs around their house, downy soft in the candlelight. The low hum of night creatures, drifting in through the open window, seemed like the only sound left in the world but for the occasional scuff as she turned her page. Outside, she could imagine Elrond walking home through the tall grass, his shoes in his hands and the hem of his robe soaking wet in the dew. Wet flowers released their honeyed smell, letting go of their daylight warmth one inch at a time.

Celebrían lay back against the low couch, her eyes scanning the carefully copied page. _The honey keeps on coming/ in the red cups and the bees/ like amber drops roll/ in the petals: there is no end,/ believe me! To the inventions of summer,/ to the happiness your body/ is willing to bear.¹_ Erestor had left with her a new volume of Glorfindel’s latest poetry, secreted away when Glorfindel’s modesty wasn’t around to protest. She grinned at the stanza before her. Glorfindel wore flowers in that golden hair more often than not these days, and though Erestor might brush off Glorfindel’s effusive happiness as the end of a journey well trod, she knew the truest answer lay in the dark-eyed shadow in that golden-haired wake. She knew Glorfindel was never so happy as when he was close to his blushing, protesting husband.

She pressed a new dog-ear fold in the corner, marking that particular stanza for later, and waited for Elrond to return. It was warm under her woven quilt, and beside her a cup of lukewarm tea waited, half-finished. She felt caught between comfort and anticipation, like a spider dancing across its tightrope web.

The back door clattered open and she jumped, started. The spike in her heartbeat, (never quite gone, even now) settled slowly. She rose, slipping the book into her pocket, and padded through the house to the sunroom in the back.

“Elrond? You’ll be glad to know Erestor left me with—”

The welcoming grin on her lips died when she saw him, weary-eyed on the threshold. Darkness circled Elrond’s eyes, and a troubled turn bent his mouth.

She halted. “Is something wrong?” Worry returned, pricking at her spine and brushing up under the thin fabric of her robe.

He shook his head, leaning on the doorframe. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just came from Ereinion’s house,” he grimaced despite his words. “We… had a difficult conversation.”

She frowned. He looked almost as if he were unable to step inside the house, caught between the candlelight before him and the night at his back. His gaze remained glued to the floor, contemplating. “If nothing is truly wrong, then why do you look so pale?” She asked.

He pursed his lips. “Did—” He began, haltingly. “You knew he is in love with me?”

 _Oh._ The worry grew, strengthened with a familiar melancholy. ”I think this is going to require tea.”

He chuckled, a smile stretching his troubled features. “Yes, my wise wife, and perhaps something stronger.”

She stepped back towards the darkened kitchen. “He told you, then?” She said over her shoulder.

Elrond nodded, finally leaving the doorway to follow her, his bare wet feet slapping on the tile. “Perhaps by accident. Apparently he has loved me for some time— I am not quite sure why he told me now.” He fell silent, jaw working with the tangle of his thoughts.

They made their way side by side to the kitchen, now lit by a single candle. She reached into a cabinet and set down two mugs on the counter before turning to the low glow of the hearth. The coals blinked to life with a few sharp prods, and she placed the kettle on top of them to warm.

Out of the corner of her gaze she watched Elrond. He rubbed his eyes, his crumpled brown robes and flyaway hair making him look a storm-tossed sparrow, unraveled and bewildered.

She left the hearth and took his hand, leaning against him. He must have taken the long way home, his robes drenched from the wet grass. The dampness from his side seeped through to her skin, clammy.

If she listened closely enough, she imagined she could hear the slow pace of Elrond’s heavy thoughts, sliding through his mind like little garden snakes. Her thoughts followed, arriving at the same place. _Ereinion_. She thought back, remembering a flash of that grey ocean gaze, the firm line of his mouth softening as he looked up at Vairë’s tapestries, her eyes and his drawn to the same slim figure curled in the threads. She rubbed absently at a scar rippling over her breastbone, troubled. Elrond remained unusually silent. She knew it was not for lack of things to say, but for having so many things that they all became clogged in his throat.

“How did he tell you?” She asked, running her fingers over his knuckles and up his arm.

He shrugged, grimacing and picking at his wet robe. “I really do think it was by accident. We were speaking of Erestor and Glorfindel, and of the “old ways”,” his lip curled around those last words, disdainful. “Ereinion, in his own subtle way, laid the ground to do away with all those prejudices so those two could finally be wed. I mentioned as much to him, grateful for it. I think the conversation might’ve ended there, but he didn’t want me to assume that he was completely altruistic in his endeavor.” He huffed. “Apparently he still holds virtue before all else, even before long-held secrets. He would not have me believe what he thought was a lie. Of course, leave it to him to confess something like that only as a byproduct of correcting my “erroneous ideas” about his honor.”

She snickered into his shoulder. “Naturally.”

The fire built to a steady crackle, the kettle hissing above it. Silence stretched between them, tension skipping over the edges. A wind shifted in the eaves of the house. She shivered, apprehensive.

The kettle whistled, and she pulled away to pluck it from the hearth. Elrond held out the mugs, one with a neat cheesecloth satchel of tea in it and the other filled with loose leaf. Filling them she took the one with the satchel, as Elrond liked to chew on the leaves as he drank.

She warmed her hands around her mug, taking small, blistering sips. Elrond just stared, watching the steam curl in the low light. The lines around his mouth and eyes were deep and dark.

“My love,” she said. “I have not seen you with such a look on your face in some time.”

“I have not felt this troubled in some time,” he replied. His hand sought hers again, though his gaze remained far away. “Ai, my head and heart are in disarray,” he said, more to himself than her. “I find myself turning his words over in my mind, the way they sounded in his mouth,” He paused. The crackling of the fire grew up between them. When he continued, his voice was low. “I think it is a wound, his love for me. Or at least, it has become something like one. He even admitted that it causes him great pain, though he will not set it aside. And since Lindon! To hold such a thing for so long! And he is so dear to me—I can’t bear to think of causing him such grief, though I did not know it. Do you know what he said to me? As I left?”

She shook her head.

His brow furrowed. “He said that once, before I came to Aman, you told him that had he been more forward with his feelings, things could have been different. That instead of finding a wife under the shade of Imladris, I could have found a lover in the halls of Lindon.”

“Hmm, yes,” she hummed, remembering the long-ago conversation. The agonized look in Ereinion’s eyes as she spoke had not been a stranger to his face, though, in that moment, it had grown sharp and pained. “I did say that. I believe it too, even now.”

Elrond’s brow creased further. “He asked me, then, if what you said was true, if things could have been different. That if he had been more bold I could have been his.” When he laughed, it came out strained and thin. “As if there was any way to reply!”

“How did you reply?” She set down the mug to wrap both her hands around his, squeezing.

“I said I didn’t know. And truly, I don’t know.” His shoulders fell. “On the one hand I can see it clearly, the two of us. Ever has he been close to my heart, and I cannot think that it would have taken much to change the color of my love for him into something else. But on the other hand,” he turned to her, his fingertips tracing her cheek and up to the tip of her ear. “I cannot conceive of a world in which you are not mine. In which we didn’t share in everything that has happened since I first saw you.” Turning and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck, he became silent once more.

Unbidden, the long years they spent apart rose in her mind, and before, what happened _before—_ It had been so long since she thought thus, but it never once lost its hold in her. All at once her throat clenched, her body turning over to old destructive patterns. “…Everything, Elrond? Truly?” Her teeth hurt like she was chewing glass.

He jerked back, his gaze split and open like a cracked egg. “Yes, my love, _yes._ ” He kissed her cheek, hands thick in her hair. “Celebrían—”

“Shh.” She pressed her face to his clammy chest. She knew it was irrational, untrue, but sometimes things were like this. Sometimes her skin didn’t feel right—like if she wasn’t careful she’d scream. Sometimes she felt that if he looked at her with that broken expression one more time she’d dissolve away.

Elrond held her fast and she felt like her bones were going to crack. She pushed away. “I’m sorry, I— sometimes it comes upon me suddenly. I’m sorry.”

He kept his hands on her shoulders, but they fluttered like moths, uncertain. “You don’t have to apologize. Was it something I said? Did—”

“No, my love, no.” She returned to the circle of his arms and he cradled her close again, softer this time. _Count your breaths. Listen to your heartbeat. It will pass._ A familiar voice in her head whispered. _With me—one two three, four—hold— one two three four five six seven eight. Again._

“Is it Ereinion? Have I troubled you with him?” Elrond caught her gaze, holding it.

She shook her head. “No. Sometimes—” she searched for the words. “Sometimes this—this grief is just there. It may stay for a while yet, but it is not permanent. Nor does it have much of a cause, save for the ghost of things long past snapping their teeth at my ankles.” The tightness began to leave her, if slowly. Weariness filled the gaps it left behind. “It will be with me always, I think.”

“Ask anything of me, and I will do it.” He kissed her forehead and she leaned into him. She forgot that while these moments were familiar, almost normal to her, Elrond never quite got over the severity of what they meant.

“Perhaps let us relocate to a place with cushions.” Her smile was small, but it grew at his answering laugh.

“As my lady wishes. Do you prefer a couch or a bed?” He drew away to gather the mugs and place them in the sink.

“Couch, I think. I feel you have much yet to tell me about our dear friend.” She wanted space, for a few moments at least, from her own thoughts, to move past her moment of grief. She had weathered this before, she would weather it again. “However, we should make a detour to get you out of these robes.”

“Ah, yes. That would be good. You too, I think I got you more than a little damp.” He wrung a few drops from his sleeve into the sink.

“Come, husband mine,” she took the candle and led them to their room.

Once there Elrond quickly shucked off his heavy brown robes, leaving them like a pile of leaves on the rug. The long path of his pale back glimmered silver in the snatches of moonlight from the window. “Enjoying the view?” He caught her staring and smirked.

“Mmm, perhaps.” She took the opportunity for a little retribution and tugged her robe over her head perhaps a little slower than usual before changing herself. She thought she heard Elrond muttering “cruel wife” under his breath and felt smug.

Their movements and conversation had drifted back to safe, routine territory. Her skin was becoming somewhere she could live again.

When she turned back to him he was sitting on their window seat, clothed in a clean, simple shift and wrapped in a quilt.

“Come now, my darling. Sit with me.” He held out his hand to the seat.

She sat opposite him, sneaking her toes under the quilt, their knees knocking together as they settled on the small bench. The familiar smell of lavender and sweet grass, the smell of _home,_ rose up her nose where she pressed it into the quilt.

For a moment they just looked out the window at the moonlight playing over the long grasses and trees. A breeze sprung up and the grass undulated like waves. Aman seemed timeless like this, clothed in moonlight.

“Are you feeling better?” Elrond asked, and his voice seemed an extension of those rippling grasses.

“I am, a little.” She felt his toes find her toes under the quilt and she smiled.

“I am glad, then,” he replied, looking back over the grass.

She stared at him. The graceful lines of his neck, flowing down to the barest glimpse of his collarbone, the way his hands rested, clasped on his knees— she felt, looking at him, that he was her lighthouse.

This was not the first time she felt this way. Elrond, ever since she first saw him dappled by the light of Imladris, seemed lit from within—a beacon calling to her. But now, after many years and many changes, he was not her only beacon. There was another she looked upon and thought _light._ She remembered grey days, darker nights— and a dear friend, a light diffused throughout. Her thoughts turned, pondering.

“Does it bother you, that I do not speak much about what happened after I sailed?” Her bravery surprised her.

“No,” he replied easily. “I always assumed that you would talk to me when you were ready. I— I did not want to push you.”

“Are you afraid of what I have to say?” She nudged him, cautious.

He sighed. “Perhaps. But it is a part of you, and I will never be afraid of you. I am only afraid in the way that I am afraid of memories, of the ache in my own heart at remembering.” He reached out and ran a thumb over a scar at her wrist. “I am sorry, my love, for when those memories overwhelm me. I feel so clumsy, sometimes, around the edges of your scars. I fear in my caution I have done further harm.”

She was covered in scars. That was what people forgot about her, that the brutality of what happened never left her skin. Thick, silvery ridges crossed over her chest and back, circling around her legs and arms and neck. There were a few jagged slices down her face, bisecting her brow and lip. Thin white lines, ropy ridges, purple-red fire bursts, puckered puncture-wounds, and the twin gaping hollows in her belly and back where she had been pierced through. There were few whose first impulse was to look in her eyes and not at her scars.

“My love,” Her heart felt heavy, her skin bare. “I… In truth, I did not know how to begin.” Her jaw clenched. Her earlier panic had not yet eased, soothed as it was by Elrond’s presence. “It was not always a good time, and I did not want to disturb your happiness.”

“Celebrían,” he drew her face up to meet his eyes. “I’m afraid I have been remiss—anything you wish to tell me you may without worrying about my happiness, and anything you wish to keep in the secrecy of your heart you may keep without worrying about what I might think. I only hope that you not be afraid of either.”

A weight lifted off her chest, replaced with a pricking ache. “I fear we have been rather foolish.” She crawled up from her seat to straddle his lap, wanting to feel close to him. He held her to his chest, his fingers digging into her back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her neck. “For not understanding sooner. Ai, how did we get here?”

“We were talking about how Ereinion is in love with you.” She drew back to tuck a flyaway strand of sable hair behind his ear.

He made a face. “Yes, that. It seems tonight is a night for difficult conversations. I feel, as an old friend would say, like butter scraped over too much bread.”

That was a good way to put it. “I imagine Ereinion feels worse about it. Ever has he kept his love for you close to his heart.” She frowned, pensive. “I wish I could say something to take away his pain— he was such a comfort to me in the dark times after I sailed.” She settled back on his thighs, warm underneath her.

“He mentioned something like that.” His hands found easy places on her hips to rest.

“Did he? What did he say?” His shift wrinkled under her hands, and she smoothed the creases across his chest. This felt good, the closeness. It filled all the empty spaces.

“That he met you on the dock and you cried together, and after you would go to the tapestries together.” he ran his thumbs in slow circles over her skin, his face thoughtful.

She chuckled. “We did. You know I had only met him a few times before then? And even then never in any real familiarity. And there I was, standing on that forsaken dock, and suddenly there was this _giant_ of an elf with a huge blanket that he just threw around my shoulders with not so much as a by your leave. You know I think he’s the tallest elf in Aman? Save for Celebrimbor, perhaps.”

Elrond snickered. “Useful on battlefields, I tell you.”

“I’m sure,” She quieted. “He was a great balm to me in those days. I think, were it not for him, my time here without you would have been very dark.” She lowered her eyes. “Leaving you and our family nearly ripped me in half.”

His eyes were shining when she looked up again. “I remember.”

 

~*~

 

The morning she left dawned dark and grey, like ink spilled over the horizon. A squall had blown in from off the water a few hours before, leaving behind a flat, cold drizzle. The rot of low tide clogged her nose and throat, the gritty sand cutting between her bandages. Scattered across the beach clusters of elves waited for the ship to raise sail, while others loaded the last of their supplies into the hold. The wind whipped around them, carrying snatches of placid conversation and gull’s cries.

She didn’t want to hear the gulls. She didn’t want to see the ship.

Elrond held her, his face hidden in the crook of her shoulder. Every so often she could hear a wet gasp against her collarbone as he wept. She pressed her forehead harder into his chest, arms stiff at his neck. Her throat jumped, raw and sore.

The twins leaned against her back, their arms and cloaks wrapped like a big quilt around her. Their hair drifted wet against her face. She could almost hear the thoughts passing between them, mourning like doves. Elladan shuddered, his tears hot on the back of her neck. Elrohir just held on, his hand clutching her dress like he was a child.

Arwen, tight at her side, looked up at her. “ _Emig_ , Mom, I have a bad feeling about this.” She gulped. “I don’t know why, but I’ve just got a bad feeling.” She started sobbing, eyes wide and terrified. Elrond leaned back enough to tug her closer into their arms. Elladan began crying harder too, burying his head in his brother’s shoulder. Elrohir’s hand tightened on her dress.

If she looked up she knew she would see all the others looking up at the gulls in rapture, glassy-eyed with joy and peace despite the rain. They didn’t look at her. Whatever it was the gulls were saying to them, whatever it was you were supposed to hear when you finally gave in and sailed, fell silent in her ears. She couldn’t hear any song, any call. Just the overwhelming drum of her heart— _you can’t stay here. You have to leave._ Her mother had said as much, lips tight around the admission. Her parents had visited in Imladris after Elrond and the twins brough her home, but they weren’t able to make the journey here now. Celebrían didn’t know if that made things easier or not.

Glorfindel stood between them and the others, solemn. She knew the look on his face, the way he stared down any that might try to disturb their little circle. He was furious— furious at their bliss as they heard the gulls and their pity as they glanced over at her and her scars. Many of her wounds still seeped with blood on bad days and she walked like a leper, limping on wrapped feet. She didn’t know what she would do when Glorfindel was no longer there to snarl, what she would do when they returned to staring.

At his side Erestor stood, his ever-present shadow. Stony-faced in the wind, he was still but for a single quivering hand on Glorfindel’s back. It looked as though that hand was the only thing keeping him upright. She felt the same. She wondered what would happen once she stepped away from her family and onto the ship, if she would collapse and fade without them to hold her. Her chest and head ached. Maybe, if she could just stay here, things would get better. If she could just have her family— hold them so close that their love dissolved into her skin— the scars and the nightmares and the horrible, strangling fear would go away. If she could. If.

She was so, so very tired.

A horn blew. The tide was turning.

“ _No,_ ” Elrond whimpered, clutching tight, “ _No,_ not yet—”

“ _Mom_ —!” Arwen wailed, throwing herself at her. “Mom, I don’t know if I— I don’t _know_ — Mom, don’t go, please!”

“Hush, _iell,_ come here.” Elrond murmured, pulling away from Celebrían to draw her up to him. She went limp in his arms, keening into his chest.

“Mom?” Elladan’s voice was so quiet behind her. She turned to see her boys, her twin stars, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Elrohir’s face twisted. “I’m sorry— I’m sorry we didn’t find you earlier, Mom, I’m so—”

“Hush.” She embraced him. “Hush, my little foal.” He broke down on her shoulder, arms tight around her. She drew back, framing his face with her hands. “Don’t you _ever,_ ” her hands tightened. “Don’t you _ever_ say that again.”

He nodded, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve.

“I love you so much,” she kissed his forehead.

“I love you too, Mom.” He mumbled, his voice cracking.

Elladan crowded in, his head on her shoulder. She released Elrohir and found herself with an armful on her second son, trembling like a leaf in a gale. “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” He managed to say, “I wish you could stay.”

“Me too.” _I wish, I wish—_ Tears fell from her swollen eyes, and she kissed him through his dark hair. “I love you, Elladan, my bright son.”

“I love you too.” He drew back to rub his eyes, turning to his brother’s shoulder.

Arwen slid under her arms, silent now but for a few hiccups. Celebrían held her, kissing her cheek. The groan of the wind grew up around them, the waves breaking over and over again.

“I love you Mom,” was all Arwen said, quiet.

“I love you too, dearest,” she replied, unable to say anything further around the stone lump in her throat. “I love you too.”

Arwen drew back and looked at her once with those stormy grey eyes before turning to her brothers, hiding her face in their arms. Celebrían could hear her crying again, muffled by their cloaks and the wind.

A hand touched her elbow, and she turned to find Glorfindel and Erestor waiting, their faces drawn. Glorfindel simply hugged her, saying nothing. He, perhaps more than any other, knew why she sailed. The knotted red burn circling his neck rose up underneath his high collar, and she ran her thumb over it. There was an answering touch, carefully gliding over the claw marks at her neck. He understood. He kissed her cheek once, then left to prepare for the return journey to Imladris.

Erestor pressed a small paper packet into her hand. “For you,” He said, his voice hushed.

“Thank you,” She took it and slid it into her pocket. Then he gathered her up, his robes warm around her, and he kissed her cheek goodbye.

“Farewell, Celebrían.” He said, blinking, and he turned away to follow Glorfindel.

Elrond stood by the lapping shore, his hand pressed against his mouth.

“Elrond—” She stumbled, falling into him and he caught her, mouth hard against hers, desperate, arms tight. She clutched at him, her fingers wound in his hair and teeth sharp on his lips. She felt a stitch pop open, felt pain bloom in her side but she didn’t care, she needed this, needed _him_ , “My love, my _love_ —”

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he whispered against her neck, broken.

“My lady, we have to leave.” An unfamiliar voice said.

“Shut _up_!” Elladan snapped. “Leave them _alone_!”

Celebrían almost thought she heard the slick snick of steel, and the unfamiliar elf left.

“My love, I must go,” she said, soft and shattered.

“I know.” He drew back to run his hand over her hair. In the grey light he seemed like a flame, his red-rimmed amber eyes hot. “As soon as I can, I will come to you.”

“I know. I’ll wait for you.” She leaned up to press one final kiss to his mouth. “My love, the love of all my long days,” she said. “I’ll wait for you.”

He helped her take those final steps across the beach and up the dock, his arm tight around her. Their children followed, a cluster of sparrows huddling together as they walked. Celebrían felt Arwen’s small hand grasp hers, and she held it until they came at last to the ship.

The sails snapped in the wind and she flinched.

Her family circled her one last time, one last wall against the cold. For a few more seconds it was warm. She looked at each of her children, her golden stars—and told them she loved them. Elrond wrapped her in his cloak, kissed her once, and let her go.

She stayed at the stern until the shore disappeared in the mist. Slowly her family became smaller and smaller until finally, they were gone.

 

When the ship entered the second day in its journey she felt like she could barely breathe. Some demented elf had started singing and now there were a full dozen of them, crowded at the prow shrieking out their sick song to the wind and the waves. She stood at the stern, looking back over the water they came from, a small string of beads clenched in her hand. They were in the small package Erestor had given her, a small loop of eight beads, one for each member of her family and another two for Glorfindel and Erestor. Two moon-silver opals for her parents, a diamond clasped in mithril for Arwen, a pair of matching sandstone beads for Elladan and Elrohir, a gold bead stamped with a flower for Glorfindel and an onyx for Erestor, and finally a citrine bead the color of his eyes for Elrond. Her loved ones, sharp in the palm of her hand.

The elves up front burst into a new song. If they didn’t stop, she was going to burst into flame and devour the ship whole. She whirled away from the prow and stalked below deck, shutting herself in her small, stuffy room. At least here she could bury herself under all her old blankets and pretend nothing was real anymore.

 

The other elves avoided her. A few, she thought, resented her for ruining their happy trip. That made things easier—if they resented her at least they weren’t staring. She, in turn, spent most of her time below deck, away from the crack of sails and hiss of ropes as the sailors charted their way.

Aman wasn’t far away, perhaps only a few weeks from Middle Earth. They passed slowly. As she slept away from the heat of Elrond beside her, her nightmares became more vivid, more visceral. She had trouble falling asleep, and worse trouble waking up. Her dreams clung to her like thick, sticky spider webs in her waking hours. Her scars itched, healing over to a bright red and silvery, sick purple. Erestor’s beads were sometimes the only thing that kept her grounded in reality—they never appeared in her nightmares. She knew she was in the process of fading, of her soul detaching itself permanently from her body, and that only Aman would be able to keep her spirit on this plane of existence. Whether that was something she wanted or not was a question she refused to think about.

 

She knew the moment Aman appeared on the horizon because the screeching songs got _louder._ She changed out of her stale, musty robe into something more suitable to meet her grandparents, and tried to clean herself the best she could. Even that little effort left her light-headed, but she forced herself to climb out of the hold and into the sunlight.

Elves were hanging from every conceivable surface, their shining faces pointed like compasses toward the thick grey smudge in the distance. The sailors were having a hard time controlling the ship, constantly having to brush errant elves off their equipment. She took her usual place at the stern and watched the dolphins playing in their wake. Elrond’s cloak hugged her shoulders. Her beads dug into her hand.

As the shore crystallized into view, she could see a gathered crowd. Great mountains rose in the distance, sloping green to the beach. Above the sun glinted through a pale veil of cloud. Which of the crowd were her grandparents? Would her uncles be here too, reincarnated like Glorfindel? Which were Elrond’s grandparents? She supposed she would recognize them when the time came, or rather if they would recognize her and save her the trouble. Cheering wafted over the water, swelling as they sailed closer. Flowers drifted by in their wake. And then there was a tap, then a thud, and the ship sidled up to the dock, home at last.

Elves streamed overboard, caught by waiting arms. The ship was nearly empty in seconds, the shallow water filled with splashing, laughing elves. She stood slowly, the wound in her side still raw and tender, and shuffled over and down the gangplank.

Something heavy landed around her shoulders with a _whump._

“Who—?” She started before finding herself _surrounded_ by solid, steady _warmth._

“I’ll hide you from them, if you wish it,” A familiar voice said, rumbling through the body that now held her close. For a brief moment panic speared through her, then subsided. She realized it was Gil-galad, Elrond’s dearest lord and king. A friend of Elrond’s—she could trust that.

By the Valar, he was _warm._ She slumped, falling to his chest. “Yes, please, just for now,” she whispered.

She felt him nod, and she sighed. She hadn’t been warm since Elrond released her hand on the shores— _Elrond—_

Nausea roiled through her. She heard a high whine leave her throat, muffled in Gil-galad’s robe. It grew louder. The thoughts whipping about her mind grew louder. Everything was too loud— Her nails bit into her palm, drawing blood over her beads— _I abandoned them I—_ Grief swallowed her, skin and flesh and bone— By the Valar, why was she _here,_ housed in this broken body, gone from everyone who loved her, who _needed_ her—

“Hush, my dear. Quiet your thoughts. You did the only thing you could do.” Gil-galad said, gentle.

But she couldn’t stop. The coldness inside her splintered, leaking out her wounded chest— she sagged against him and _sobbed._

It felt like a long time before she came back to herself, returning to her aching body and the weight of Gil-galad around her. Her breath stuttered in her lungs, and, strangely, his did too, trembling under her palms.

“Are you crying, my lord?” she mumbled, pain pulsing behind her nose and forehead.

He pulled back, eyes wet. “I am.”

“Why?” she looked up at him, studying his face. Grey eyes, once stern with the pressure of rule, were soft and lined. Surprised, she saw he wore no crown, his brow bare but for the smattering of freckles across his face and neck. His wheat-gold hair, tied in a high tail, drifted down over his bare shoulder. He wore a sleeveless tunic, his arms— _oh._ Splashed across his left arm were four furious red scars, bands each easily half a foot thick. A fifth band crossed his right arm.

“Barad-dûr.” He caught her staring. “Sauron picked me up and threw me against the wall of the tower. These,” he brushed the edge of the scar, “are his fingerprints.”

She reached up and ran her fingers over them. They rasped against her hand, hot to the touch.

“We make quite a pair, my lord.” She chuckled, hoarse.

He tugged the blanket closer around her. “I didn’t want you to be the only one they stared at.”

For a moment they just looked at each other. Then she crumpled, hugging him tight. When the tears came they were softer this time, and she felt better for them. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Ereinion. Please call me Ereinion.” He pressed a hand to her head, keeping her close. “To answer your earlier question, I weep for you. For you and those who left behind.” Drawing away, he rubbed his knuckles across his eyes. “Your husband is very dear to me, and I find that his family has joined him in my heart. I love you all very much, as if you were my own family.” He gave a small half-smile. “I realize I’m being rather impertinent.”

She smiled, her face unused to it. “I’m glad for it.”

“Good.” His mouth widened into a true grin. “Now, I feel I must release you to your blood kin, but please, my house is on the cliffs near the Halls of Mandos. I am known as something of a hermit these days, and would enjoy the company if you came to visit.”

She nodded, something like gladness seeping back into her.

He reached up to cup her face. “Are you ready?” he said, low.

She placed her hands over his, gripping fiercely. The weight of his hands on her skin felt good, felt grounding. A surprise— to be touched without panic or fear. “I think so,” she replied. “ _Thank you,_ Ereinion. I’ll visit when I can.”

He skimmed the thin skin beneath her eyes with his thumbs, catching the last of her tears. “I’ll look for you, my lady.”

“Celebrían, Ereinion. Call me Celebrían.” She gave a wry smile.

He chuckled. “As you will, Celebrían.”

 

~*~

 

“Did he really? With the blanket?” Elrond grinned, his face alight with imagining.

“He did. A big, blue, heavy quilt with his crest stitched in silver.” She ran her thumb along the edge of that smile. “That blanket felt like the first _real_ thing I had touched since leaving your side. And then he was there, wrapping me up with his arms and for a few, brief seconds I was hidden from all the horrible, questing eyes on the shore. Of course I wept. He did too, and I knew that he understood why I wept without having to tell him, though we did talk about it later.” She smiled, wry. “He was there even before my grandparents, before any of my family. I think I lasted about two weeks with them before I bolted and stayed with him for a couple hundred years.”

 

~*~

 

It was hard to miss Finarfin and Eärwen, flanked as they were by long, glimmering banners and their brows crowned with jewels. The two of them sparked like struck gold, robed in white threaded through with mithril. Beside them stood three golden-haired elves, presumably her uncles. Further back there were other vaguely familiar forms, but she couldn’t quite tell.

Leaning on Ereinion’s arm, she limped down the dock. She must look like a rat to them, scuttling out of her hole, covered in grime and filth. Her bandages chafed.

Ereinion paused and glanced at her. Then he nodded and released her to walk the rest of the way on her own. She kept the blanket.

When her extended family surrounded her with soft sighs and comforting words, her blood began to pound. She folded herself deeper in the blanket. All the snapping voices in her chest were getting loud again.

They took turns embracing her, introducing themselves in quiet, soothing voices. Their voices drifted like ghosts around her, wisps in the wind. She bowed, mumbled out her introductions, and squeezed the voices down.

Then she was bundled up in a carriage, surrounded with knit blankets and gauzy curtains, and rolled away to Tirion.

 

Tirion seemed a city built entirely by pure white clouds. Beside this, Imladris squatted like a hut in the woods. Even her mother and father would look out of place next to the elegant elves floating down the sparkling avenues.

All these golden-haired elves around her, and not one sable-feathered sparrow among them.

“I am so very glad you came to us, my dear. It is a delight to have you here at last. Tell me, do you know if your mother and father will sail soon?” Eärwen stood next to the seamstress, watching as she pinned another dress on Celebrían.

“I do not think so. They are very attached to Lothlorien, and have much yet to do in Middle Earth.” The dress was long-sleeved, high-collared, and very tight. It was still summer, all the other elven ladies were wearing billowing, sleeveless wisps, and Celebrían was going to scream.

“For my own sake I hope you’re wrong,” Eärwen mused. “I miss her so, and I long to have all my children together again.”

 _Do you now._ Celebrían stiffened.

“My dear, when you’re finished, I would like it if you joined us in the gardens. You look so pale some days, and I feel that it might bring a little color to your face.” She caressed Celebrían’s cheek, tucking a strand of curling hair behind her ear.

 _I have color on my face. All of my scars are bright red._ “Of course, though I cannot promise to be there long. I find myself easily fatigued these days.” That was putting it lightly. Her elven tirelessness fled, she slept (or tried to) more often than not.

“Understandably. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have arrangements made. I’ll see you in a half hour?” Eärwen turned to leave.

Celebrían knew she phrased the sentence as a question, but her grandparents rarely asked true questions. “I’m looking forward to it.”

 

The walls of her room were shrinking. On her nightstand yet another of her well-meaning relatives had placed a small jar of face paint, tinted to her color, right next to the decorative scarves a different relative had gifted her earlier that day.

 _I didn’t want you to be the only one they stared at._ Ereinion’s words were beginning to make more sense.

She took the jar and the scarf and shoved them in the back of her closet filled with clinging dresses. Wrapping Elrond’s cloak and the blue blanket around her, she burrowed into bed, willing herself to sleep.

A light knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” A headache was already rooting itself in the back of her skull.

Eärwen entered, a cup and saucer in her hand. “I brought you some warm milk.”

“Thank you,” She forced herself to say. “That’s very kind of you.”

Eärwen set the cup and saucer down on the nightstand and sat down on the side of the bed. “I know it must be hard for you,” she took Celebrían’s hand. “All these new people must be a bit much, and of course it must be hard to be away from your husband and children.”

Hearing her say it brought tears pricking at the corners of Celebrían’s eyes, and she nodded, sniffing.

“There, there, my dear. Just give it a little time. It always takes a little time a adjust.” Eärwen squeezed her hand. “We love you so, my dear. We’re so glad to have you here.” She kissed her forehead and slipped softly out of the room.

Celebrían stared at the ceiling for a long time. The she got up, packed a small bag with Elrond’s cloak, the blue blanket, her beads, and a few other necessities, and left.

 

~*~

 

Elrond scowled. “Truly, they did such things?”

She snorted. “Why, my love, do you think we live in the country and are not housed in grandeur in my grandparents’ halls? Here I am a princess, it is my right.”

“I begin to see why Ereinion is such a hermit,” He groused. “Ugh.”

“There is no pain in Tirion, none but whatever private things elves might carry in their hearts.” Her hands drifted over her bare arms. “They are very secretive about such things. And what am I but a walking reminder of the pain of Middle Earth? When I arrived I discovered that those I expected to comfort me could only see a pitiable mauled thing, something to be swaddled and patted. My grandparents, in truth, were worst of all. They never “made the mistake” of going to Middle Earth, save for their part in the War of Wrath. There they only saw death and destruction, and were swift to return here at its end. Hence they have lived out their days in the peace and surety of knowing they made the _correct_ choice. Needless to say they are displeased with my mother, though they have come to “forgive” my uncles, who spent most of their time away anyway.” She paused, considering. “I think that their attitude comes from losing their children so violently. In some ways, I wouldn’t be surprised if they hate Middle Earth and all it represents. In any case, they weren’t much comfort. Your grandparents on both sides were better, especially Tuor. But there was such distance between them and me— we had never met before. Sometimes I felt they trusted Aman to do my healing for me. They wanted me to sink myself in the milky timelessness of this place. And I couldn’t.”

“I am sorry.” Elrond followed her hands with his, light as air.

“It’s alright. They tried. I lived with my grandparents at first, but as I said, I ran after a few weeks. They weren’t worried, though they should have been. I— I was hurting, badly. I ended up breaking into Ereinion’s house while he was away and sleeping on his couch. He let me stay. I think he was more lonely than he was willing to admit, and at any rate I didn’t leave for another three hundred years.” The memory burned bright in her mind. _Lighthouse._ A beacon.

 

~*~

 

She finally found his house a little after midnight. Ulmondil, a small bay gelding with quick little legs, ambled peacefully by her side as she staggered across the stony beach. She kept both hands tight in his mane, her legs threatening to give out underneath her after every other step. After the fortnight-long journey on horseback, she could hardly tell shadow from monster, every errant breeze carrying snarling echoes. Ulmondil proved to be an unexpected friend, solid and understanding by her side. He needed no saddle or bridle, and faithfully carried her where she asked him to go. She was not sure she would have made it this far if he weren’t there to comfort her in the long nights. As it was she spent most of the journey dozing on his back during the day while huddling, terrified and awake, by his side at night.

Now at last it seemed they had arrived.

The house rose dark against the cliffs, nestled in the crook of a ridge. The only structure for miles, it looked no bigger than a cottage, though in the light, perhaps, it would be larger. Behind it moonless grasses hissed, a vibrating smudge of ash-grey. A small stream of fresh water from a hidden spring gurgled along the side of the house before falling to the sea. Before it a small path led down to the beach and she took it, Ulmondil’s nose soft in the small of her back. Ereinion must be gone, for there were no lights shining in the windows and no movement came from inside. She knocked anyway, to no reply. The doors were locked, as were most windows save for a single half-circle window in the back. This she pried open, and slipped inside.

Her first errand was to the pantry for an apple for Ulmondil.

“Thank you, dear friend.” She stroked his velvet nose through the open window and he nickered, crunching happily. “Can I trust you to fend for yourself for now?”

With water and grass nearby he would be well taken care of, and she knew he would not travel far from her. There was a small shed in back for horses, but she thought he would prefer to wander for now. He nudged her hand, snuffling for more. When he found none he reached up and lipped at her hair, breath hot on her face, before turning away to find a bed among the grasses.

Inside she fumbled her way to the main room, falling at last on a long couch. She stayed awake long enough to pull out Elrond’s cloak and the blue blanket from her bag before collapsing into sleep, beads tangled around her fingers.

 

The world came to her in pieces.

The stubble of worn velvet scrunching under her fingers. _Dark, breathing dark—_ Gulls calling outside the big paned windows. _Fire, iron—_ A low table with books and seashells stacked upon it. _A spear, a slender black spear—_ She jerked up, lightheaded.

Ereinion’s house. He said she could visit. He probably meant when he was at home, ready to receive her as a guest instead of as a burglar. She could only hope he were the kind of person to understand the sorts of places people went when they had nowhere else to go.

She explored the house, peeking in rooms but not entering anywhere more private than the library she woke up in. So far as she could tell there were two bedrooms, one for himself and another for guests, a small bathing room with cold water piped in from the spring, the library, and a large, well-stocked kitchen. She wandered along the wooden floors, creaking from one room to the next, one hand steadying on the whitewashed walls. The whole placed seemed perfunctory, utilitarian. A few worn tapestries, the only true decoration, hung next to seashells, which dotted every conceivable surface in an abrupt display of whimsy. Perhaps his bedroom held something different, but she didn’t want to invade his privacy further.

The long-sleeved dress pressed in around her. She paused, trembling against a doorway. The only other clothes she had were similarly tightly stitched, her old traveling clothes from Imladris hidden for the summer by ( _evil, cruel_ ) well-meaning relatives. She closed her eyes, took a few, gulping breaths, and wobbled her way to Ereinion’s bedroom.

Purposefully not looking around, she yanked open the cabinet and grabbed the first robe she saw, leaving as quickly as she came. This, whatever it was she was doing now, was bad enough without picking over his personal things with a fine-toothed comb. Before she could fully avert her gaze, however, her eyes caught a thin ribbon laying haphazard on the nightstand, an achingly familiar pattern embroidered on the end. A six-pointed star, a silmaril, beaming out in braided light on a sea-green field. Elrond.

 

Ereinion was gone for a few days more before returning early one morning. She stood in the kitchen wrapped in his long robe, hair and face unwashed. In her hands she held a mug of very strong tea, which she sipped while she watched the last of her long-sleeved dress burn away in the hearth.

The door rattling open sent a spike of fear through her, and she nearly dropped the mug. Heavy footfalls sounded down the hall, pausing at the living room before turning to the kitchen.

He didn’t seem surprised to see her, but simply leaned against the entryway, thoughtful. She looked back at him, unapologetic. He seemed to accept that.

She gestured to the hearth. “They kept giving me long-sleeved dresses,” she croaked, her voice nearly gone from all the nightmares were putting her through.

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fools. Tell me, how long have you been here?”

“A few days. I left Tirion two weeks before that. You left your back window open.” She took another gulp from her mug, willing herself to wake up from the fog she was struggling through.

He gave a reluctant smile. “I shall have to rectify that. And, I suppose that explains the little fellow tearing up the flowerbeds. What’s his name?”

“Ulmondil.” Her mug was empty.

“A good name,” he paused. “I have had a long journey, and I was planning to go swimming. Will you join me?”

She blinked. _Swimming?_ “As you wish,” She replied, setting the mug down on the counter.

“Alright.” He turned to walk to the door and she followed, the long robe dragging under her feet.

They walked in silence together down the path down to where the stream fell into a deep pool, mingling with the surf. For a few moments she thought she should make conversation, but realized with relief that it was unneeded.

Ereinion’s high tail swayed with the easy swing of his shoulders, catching the weak light breaking through the early-morning banks of clouds. He moved with graceful control, stepping easily down the rocky path to the pool below. She limped behind him, hiking the robe up away from the scraping rocks.

The pool was deep and clear, fed by the sea and spring in equal measure. Small fish and sea creatures clung to the rocky walls and scuttled along the sandy bottom, casting flickering shadows under the rippling luminescence of the surface. It was large enough to swim circles in, with dark, barnacled ledges to rest on against the walls.

Ereinion paused at the edge of the pool and turned back to watch her as she came to stand beside him. Then, carefully, he pulled his tunic over his head.

The scar splashed violent over his chest, a ribbed red handprint wrapping over his chest and back. At the end of the finger-marks five punctured holes dipped further into his back, digging down into firm muscle. He leaned down to slip off his leggings and she saw smaller white scars criss-crossing down over his thighs and feet. Then, dressed only in his underclothes, he dove into the water.

 _You can stay._ _You don’t have to hide._ _You can stare at me._

She slipped off the robe and jumped in.

“ _Fuck!_ That’s _cold!”_ She broke the surface, teeth chattering.

He laughed, bobbing at the surface a few feet away. “Does it feel good?”

“Absolutely not!” But it did. It bit at her skin, cold and real. She felt _clean._

Ereinion smirked and dove down to roam along the bottom of the pool. She stayed treading the surface, looking up at the gulls swinging through the sky. Their cackling cries rung out over the waves and for the first time she thought it sounded beautiful.

Ereinion surfaced next to her. “Here, look,” he held out his hand. “A star, for Elrond’s house.” In his palm he held a small, many-armed sea creature. It groped blindly across his hand, looping one of its arms around his pinky.

“Don’t you have a star for your crest too?” She looked over at it, its glimmering purple skin pebbled with little mountainous ridges.

“I have many stars—if we were to make mine then we’d need a bucket.” He ran his finger over its back and it pulled away, obviously annoyed.

She held out her hand. “May I?”

“Of course. Here, keep it under water so it won’t dry out.” He gently tipped the creature into her palm.

Its rough, prickly skin surprised her. “I thought it would be more slimy,” she mused. Along the ridges of her palm she could feel the questioning arms exploring her skin. “What are they called?”

“Starfish. They’re only found on this side of the continent, I believe. Here, put it on this ledge. They like to eat clams and there are a few for it here.” He swam over to the lip of the pool and she followed. There she slipped the starfish over a few unsuspecting clams, peering down as it looped its arms around a clamshell and began to pry it open.

She crossed her arms over rock lip and glanced over at Ereinion. It seemed the ocean opened him up as easily as that clamshell. The well-worn lines in his face smoothed, and he looked at everything with a soft curve in his mouth. “Ereinion, answer me something.”

“Yes?” He joined her, leaning against the edge on the other side of the starfish.

“How is it you died in Middle Earth, yet you are reborn with your scars intact?” The starfish now had two arms within the clam’s shell, digging around gleefully. “Glorfindel bore scars after death as well, but I never asked him why.”

He pondered that for a moment. “I think we keep the scars that are meaningful to us, which is to say, all of them. I would not be who I am without this fell handprint, but similarly,” he motioned to a small white line on his shoulder, “I would not be who I am without this, which, by the way, your husband gave me.”

“Did he now.” She snickered. Laughter was beginning to feel good again.

“He did. We switched weapons for practice and he was unused to aeglos’ extended length, though I admit he shouldn’t have been able to get within my guard in the first place. But, to continue your answer, yes, these are meaningful to me but also,” his face grew drawn. “In the Halls you can’t feel your skin. You can’t feel your heartbeat or your breath rushing in your lungs. In some ways all of the healing we do there is imaginary, and is only brought to fulfillment when we learn how to walk around in our bodies again.”

“You are so open with them, with your scars.” She brushed the drying salt off her skin.

“I’m open with them with _you,_ ” he corrected. “You and a few others. Besides, it’s easy to be open about things that don’t scare you anymore.”

 

He didn’t ask how long she planned on staying and she never told him, but she noticed how he slipped aside to make space for her. She moved from the couch and took up residence in the second bedroom. The blue blanket was spread over the coverlet, and the beads rested on the cloak folded by her pillow. A few more small things, little gifts she managed to bring on the trip over, dotted the nightstand. A silver comb from Elrohir. Poetry from Glorfindel. A carved wooden deer, speckled with mother-of pearl from Elladan. A portfolio filled with portraits of places she’d never see again, painted by Arwen. Tiny cold things, once held by people she loved more than anything else. It was good enough for now.

 

The day after Ereinion returned they went to the Halls to see the tapestries. Ereinion managed to find her some old tunics that fell long enough to brush her knees, and she belted them with one of his old sword belts knotted well past the belt holes. They walked out together across the beach, Ulmondil following them for a little ways before breaking away to splash in the surf.

The entrance to the Halls, cut right into the cliff side, loomed high above them, jutting out over the beach and surf. Strange crystal-white lamps hung above them as he led them deeper, the echoes of the waves crumbling into strange, hollow cries. Ancient pillars, covered with dew from the sea air, curved and twisted with designs more ancient than the Eldar themselves. Archways led to fog-filled pools, and she kept her eyes away from swirling, opalescent mists within. Their footfalls made soft tapping sounds under the roar of the water. Celebrían kept her hands deep in the pockets of her tunic, beads rolling against her knuckles as she kept close behind Ereinion. He led her through the vaulted caverns to a smaller side door and motioned her inside.

This hall was as different from the one outside as night from day. Wooden pillars, carved with trees and birds, stood tall in the warm light. A few elves hurried by her, carrying armfuls of rich, colorful thread. Fires lit in golden braziers billowed purple incense up into the wooden beams of the ceiling, from which hung thousands of embroidered ribbons. She craned her neck to read _Astra, daughter of Astrid_ stitched into a white ribbon. Next to it hung _Iwar, son of Ingemar_ on a wine-red ribbon and _Koná, daughter of Konís_ in blue.

“Those are the names of all those who have lived in Middle Earth,” Ereinion whispered to her. “And here is the tapestry upon which their stories are told.”

Deep red wood paneled the walls, upon which hung a tapestry so large and vibrant she could hardly take it in. It stretched across the hall for what must be miles before disappearing into the distance. She leaned in, afraid to touch it, peering closer to see the threads unfurling like living ferns.

“It knows whom we desire to see,” He said, and he pulled away to watch the tapestry.

Imladris. Imladris in summer. Golden threads shimmered like real sunlight, like she was looking through a window into their sun-soaked room. _Their_ room.

Elrond knelt, slumped over the windowsill, sobbing. _Elrond—_

“ _Love—_ ” she choked. The threads trembled silently with his cries, and she bit down hard on the heel of her palm to keep her own sudden whimpers down.

His hair was tangled in disarray. She could see the way it snarled down his shoulders, uncared for. He buried his face in his arms, fingers clenching against his sleeves. With a shock she realized those must be _her_ braids, the ones she wove into his hair so many weeks ago. He hadn’t re-braided them.

Elrond started, looking to the door, eyes red. _Come in,_ she read on his lips.

Erestor padded in on silent feet, coming to stand above Elrond. His grim face was unusually soft, marked with grief and empathy. _Come with me, my lord._ He reached down and brushed a strand of wet hair away from Elrond’s face.

Elrond stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and lost. Then he stood, and allowed Erestor to lead him to a chair by the bed. For a moment Erestor rested his hands on Elrond’s head, steadying the trembling. Then, with aching slowness, he began to untangle the knotted braids in his hair.

Erestor didn’t use a brush, combing instead with the tips of his fingers. A long ago memory struck her, mirrored in the scene before her. Elrond, dressed in white for their wedding; Erestor, in place of Elrond’s father Eärendil, standing behind him and combing out that long, glossy hair. Back then Elrond had been a bundle of nervous energy, talking animatedly with Glorfindel as Celebrían snuck an illicit look through the far window. Now Elrond leaned back, eyes closed, still. His hands—hands that never stilled save in sleep— hung limp and open at his side. Erestor watched that pale face closely, pulling out his sable hair until it hung loose and straight over the back of the chair.

 _May I?_ Erestor asked.

Elrond nodded. Celebrían bit back a sob.

Erestor, as he had the day of her wedding, began to twist the marriage braids back into Elrond’s hair.

Elrond hid his face in his hands as new tears streamed down his face and neck, trickling down under his collar. His chest stuttered, and Celebrían wanted to place her hands there, wanted to braid his hair _herself,_ wanted to feel the weight of it under her hands as she had every day since they wed—

She could not help weeping, and she could not look away.

Erestor soon finished, tying back the last braid with a quick twist of ribbon. He bent, pressing a kiss to the top of Elrond’s head, and turned to leave.

Elrond grasped his hand, tugging him back. _Thank you, Erestor._

Erestor bowed his head. _You’re welcome._ Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Elrond sat in silence, running his fingers over the braids at his temples. Celebrían almost reached out to touch the threads of the tapestry, so badly did she want to feel them.

“I think, Ereinion,” she said, hoarse. “You had better take me back.” She turned to see him, his own eyes mottled red. He nodded. She reached out to take his arm and together they walked out of the Halls.

 

The nightmares stayed. The days at Ereinion’s house were better, but the nights stayed the same. First the darkness of sleep, and then the darkness _moved._ Each night found her staggering outside, barefoot in the grass, clutching Ulmondil’s mane for hours until the sun rose and her heart and thoughts settled into something she could live with. As the ocean mist receded in the grey dawn she would slip inside before Ereinion woke and doze until the sun rose high.

For the most part they led separate lives, he with his errands and political news and she with her reading and walks. In the late afternoon they would meet and journey to the Halls, watching Imladris as it drifted out of summer and into autumn.

Then, as the sun set, her skin would alight with sparks of panic. She would smile, wish Ereinion good night, and return to her room for a few minutes of snatched sleep before jolting awake, ghosts swimming at the edges of her vision, her sheets damp and sour with sweat, heartbeat wild in her throat. Ulmondil seemed to know to stay nearby at night, waiting patiently for her outside the back door, or, if Ereinion was still keeping long hours, the back window. She would press her face to his warm neck, drowning in her memories until the sun came once more.

Tonight was worse.

 _Dark, throbbing—_ Ulmondil shifted, his wiry mane cutting stripes into her fingers, little red stripes— _the slick gleam of a knife, a promise—_ she bit her arm, pinpoint of pressure keeping her from flying out of her skin—

A light appeared behind her and she jumped, whirling to see Ereinion standing in the doorway with a lantern.

“Celebrían?” He asked, shadows in his face leaping in the lantern light.

She shrunk away, throat caught.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, wry. “Nightmares.”

She nodded.

He held out a hand. “Will you come inside?”

She didn’t take it, but she followed him in to the library, faltering down on the couch. Her breath hitched, frantic even in the light of the house. Heat and embarrassment pricked at her eyes. By all that was holy, why couldn’t she just _sleep._

He knelt before her, careful not to touch her. “I need you to breathe in when I tell you, and breathe out when I tell you. Yes?”

She dipped her head, _alright._

“Good. Breathe in, one two three four—hold—release, one two three four five six seven eight. Again.” His eyes held her face, intent.

The moon inched across the sky, light crawling up the floor through the window. Minutes passed, then hours. His voice stayed with her, and her heart slowed.

He stopped. “Are you alright now?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.” She groaned, rubbing her hands hard at her temples.

“Good.” He stood from the floor and sat down next to her. “Does this happen every night?”

“Every night.” She slumped back against the couch. “You?”

“They used to be much more frequent, but now only happen occasionally.” He shrugged and rubbed his sleeve. “Fire. Teeth. The like.”

She looked sideways at him. His hair hung loose and tangled with sleep, dark circles ringing his eyes, but he was calm.

“It was Arwen, this time, in the dream. They made me watch Arwen.” Her voice was flat, rough. “You know what happened to me?”

“Yes. I didn’t leave the tapestries for weeks— I just stayed with you.” They looked away from each other. This was too vulnerable.

“I don’t know how I feel about that.” Her final bandage, wrapped around her middle, scraped her ribs. “I assumed you watched Elrond, and only saw me after. It was always something of a comfort, thinking no one saw.”

“I understand. I am sorry if I have caused offense.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Why did you watch, Ereinion?” And she turned to see a not unfamiliar flicker cross his face.

“I love your family,” he said, simply. “I have loved them for ages. First Elrond, then you, and the twins, and Arwen. It was for love that I could not turn away. Please forgive the loneliness of an old elf.”

It was not a true answer, but it was probably the closest she was going to get. “If there were anything to forgive I think you would have made it up by now. You have been a more gracious host than my rudeness warrants.” She hugged a pillow to her chest. “I am a _terrible_ houseguest.”

He chuckled, pulling out the tangles in his hair. “You are. I did wonder if you would survive in Tirion, you grandparents being who they are. The idea that you would come to my house eventually did cross my mind, but I admit I didn’t think you’d _break in._ ”

She shrugged. “I didn’t know where else to go. Who else could I trust, if not my grandparents? And they proved… less than helpful. You showed yourself to be kind, on the dock, and while most offered me pity few offered me kindness. Besides, Elrond spoke often of you, and I thought I could trust that if nothing else.”

“I am glad you came to me. As I said, I have been lonely.” He looked to her, thoughtful. “You comfort me.”

She smiled. “Here I was, thinking I was the one being comforted. Ai, we are a mess.”

The moon hung low in the sky, a deep candle-yellow.

“Come now, Ereinion, perhaps we can get a few more hours sleep before dawn.” She stood.

“Celebrían. If it gets bad again, call for me.” He followed, his gaze an even, earnest stare.

She did not think she would. Living in his house was enough— she couldn’t survive on his friendship alone. If she were to call him for every nightmare she would drain their friendship in service of her healing and leave what they had an empty husk. Already she knew that she must find another source, more springs to draw from lest she empty this one. She thought too that Ereinion understood this, but chose anyway to offer. That meant something.

 

After, she wandered more often and further afield, her sore legs carrying her over the wilds of Aman. The walks helped to siphon off some of the more restless energy building up in her bones, and Ulmondil often joined her. When she woke at night she remembered to count her breaths as Ereinion had, and while it was nowhere near a cure it did help. A large jar of ointment labeled _for scars_ appeared on her nightstand, and when she smelled it the quick green scent of athelas reminded her of home. When she rubbed it over her body before bed she found she had less pain when she woke, even if it did cause her sheets to stick to her. Slowly, as slow as the turn of the seasons, she slept more, her beads an anchoring weight in her hand.

Her family, as ever, soothed her. She watched Elrohir grow ever more like his father, tall and stately next to Elladan’s wildness and fiery energy. The two of them sharpened in her absence, honing themselves as weapons against the evil testing their borders. She worried, watching them return home gore-splattered with Glorfindel after another raid. She could see that it took all Elrond had to not rush out after them every time they left, twisting Vilya around his finger while standing on the tall balconies overlooking the far mountains. When the twins were gone Arwen would often sit up late nights with him, looking out over the mountains, leaning on his shoulder. Her youngest child—her shining daughter. Thinking about her family proved to be a double-edged blade, soothing Celebrían’s heart one moment and cutting her open with longing the next.

The nights stretched under her. She never called to Ereinion, but occasionally, in the night, they would find each other. Driven by nightmares or restlessness, he would light a lamp and she would make tea and then together they would sit quietly on the couch and read.

They settled into what was becoming a life together.

 

Ulmondil nickered, bobbing his head up to where a slight figure walked down the path from Ereinion’s house. Celebrían followed his eyes to see an elf with long wheat-gold hair, the same as Ereinion’s except that it flowed down in a long braid over her shoulders. The elf looked up from the path and saw her, their eyes meeting across the sand.

“Hello,” she called, striding forward. “I see you must be Celebrían. I’m glad someone’s finally dragged my brother out of solitude, even if by force.”

 _Brother?_ As she approached Celebrían saw the similarities; the relaxed, confident gait, her freckled skin and blonde hair. She fell a few inches short of Ereinion, but had height enough to tower over Celebrían.

“I see I am known to you, but I do not know your name.” Celebrían replied, her eyes catching the knotted patchwork of scars circling her wrists and neck.

“Finduilas, but I go by Faelivrin these days. Ereinion wrote me some time ago asking if I had some clothes for you and if I would bring them over. I apologize for the delay; I live rather far away.” She came to stand by Ulmondil’s head, scratching his ears. “Hello Ulmondil, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Ereinion never mentioned he had a sister,” Celebrían said, her tongue thick and clumsy after speaking so little. Her eyes kept drifting down to the necklace of scars around Faelivrin’s neck.

Faelivrin laughed. “Of course. Our heritage is so illustrious he just assumes that everyone knows. I should tell you now that I am the elder, a fact that he, as all younger siblings must, struggled with his whole life.”

Celebrían grinned. “I shall keep this in mind. Though, tell me, why did you not take the throne if you are the elder?”

“I was dead by that point,” She said as easily as she might’ve said _please pass the salt_ or _I prefer daisies._ “Woke up over here with these nice souvenirs and no way to inherit.” She held up her wrists, also circled with banded scars. “Damn shame too, I think I would have made a wonderful High Queen.”

Faelivrin and Ereinion’s faces might have been cut from the same cloth, but that was where the similarity ended. Faelivrin’s mouth stretched wide with a grin that seemed to never fade and her sea-green eyes glinted with playfulness.

“I am inclined to agree with you. Well met, Faelivrin.” Celebrían found Faelivrin’s smile infectious.

Faelivrin fell into step beside her. “Well met indeed! Come now, I was just about to go swimming, and Ereinion will be down whenever he finishes whatever it is he thinks is so important. What do you say we get to know each other in the meantime?”

 

~*~

 

Elrond bit back a laugh. “Ereinion is the _youngest?_ ”

“I think so, unless he has other siblings hidden away where we can’t see them.” Celebrían said.

Elrond sighed, chuckling. “By the Valar, I do not envy his childhood. Faelivrin as a sister is one thing, as an _older_ sister is quite another.”

“Too true. We, as you know, became great friends—a fact that I’d sure gave him many sleepless nights.” She smiled, remembering the look of dawning horror on Ereinion’s face as he walked down the path to discover she and Faelivrin floating in the pool, whispering to each other.

“The two of you must have been a terror,” Elrond replied.

“Absolutely. I think Ereinion suggested she help me build this house just to get us out of his hair, not knowing how much delight it would bring us.” She ran her hand along the windowsill. The underside, she knew, still bore Faelivrin’s seal, stamped on in blue ink. “Ereinion treated me like a real person, not just a stitched-up prop. But Faelivrin treated me like a _normal_ person, like we were two housewives getting together to giggle and gossip. You know I tend to keep my circle of acquaintances small, and not since Lórinand had I found a close female friend such as her. To me, at that time, she appeared as a perfect balance. I didn’t know how much I needed her until I had her. That, and she’s an unmitigated delight. I don’t think I had laughed as hard in years as I did seeing her tell me stories of their childhood, Ereinion hiding his red face in the water.”

“I see now that I shall have to make her a better acquaintance,” said Elrond. “She holds valuable information.” He paused, considering. His hand rested on hers, rubbing along the ridges of her knuckles. “My love,” he began, looking away. “I cannot tell you how my heart is split, hearing you speak. Half of me aches, hearing of the long days I could not be there to comfort you—” his voice broke. “And yet, Ereinion, Faelivrin, their generosity and kindness— I am overwhelmed with gratitude and love for them and admiration for you, for walking this road with all the strength and grace I know you possess.” When his eyes returned to hers they shone glassy in the moonlight. He kissed her palm, cradling her hand on his face.

 

~*~

 

Faelivrin left a few weeks later, leaving Celebrían with her writing address and Ereinion with a few more grey hairs.

The house relaxed back into silence around them, and the next morning found the two of them wordlessly returning to the Halls, for they had not had the chance to visit during Faelivrin’s stay. Ereinion walked, brisk and sure, over the sand, Celebrían at his side. She wore a loose, fluttering dress, like those she had envied at Tirion’s court. Her arms and chest were mostly bare, and she felt proud and sure of her skin. Her hair was tied up and away, revealing the low-cut cloth and the long, jagged swath of her back. The sun shone clear and white, and the whitecaps blew in long, glittering veils over the water.

Elrond and Arwen were reading in the study when they came to stand before the tapestry. After a moment Erestor strode in, carrying a portfolio of papers.

“I know that look,” Ereinion whispered, breaking the silence for the first time in the smoky quiet of the halls.

“Whose?” She questioned as Erestor handed the papers to an exasperated Elrond.

“Erestor’s. That look of pride.” Ereinion nodded toward where Erestor stood at the corner of the room, watching Elrond scan the papers.

She noticed Erestor’s eyes, how they followed Elrond around the room. “His devotion has never faltered,” she said. “I think he believes Elrond is the only elf worth following.”

“No one of their right mind would challenge his belief. I knew long before I died that Elrond had surpassed me in both grace and wisdom,” Ereinion’s voice hummed with esteem. “It is one of my greatest honors that he chose to carry my banner.”

They fell silent. Elrond grumbled about whatever the papers told him. Arwen rose to sit next to Erestor, whispering something in his ear that quirked his lips into a smile. Together the four of them, two present and two across the sea, watched Elrond deliberate.

Celebrían glanced at Ereinion from the corner of her eye. “Tell me, Ereinion,” she began, faint under the crackling braziers, “How long have you been in love with Elrond?”

He froze. A high, pained color flushed his cheeks, his eyes snapped open. “You must believe me,” he began, voice trembling as if she had struck him. “You must believe me when I say I will never try to take him from you.”

She put a hand on his arm and he flinched. “Ereinion, that was never a worry in my mind. I only ask because— because I know that look.”

He turned to stare at her, eyes wide with terror.

“The look you wear when you watch him. I have worn it every day since my wedding day.” Her hand tightened around his arm. “Ereinion, please, I bear you no ill will.”

By degrees his shoulders lost their tension, draining out of him in drops. “I,” he sighed, his voice almost gone. “I have loved him for thousands of years. Since before you were born.”

She gaped at him.

When he smiled it return it was a painful, sharp thing. “Ai, you have found my true scar,” he whispered, half to himself.

She frowned, perplexed. “Did you pursue him, all those many years ago?”

“No,” he replied, face wan with age. “I believe he knew of it, and did nothing, so I in turn said nothing of it. Besides,” he shrugged, defeated. “Such relationships were frowned upon at the time, and at any rate we were at _war._ I do not believe such a thing could have flourished.”

“Ereinion,” she began, slowly. “Do you not know of how he speaks of you, even to this day? Erestor might think him the only elf worth following but he thinks _you_ are the only elf worth following. I do not think he knew of your love— if he had then I, in all truth, do not think I would be standing here with you.”

“How do you mean?” He barely moved, caught in her words.

“I mean that he could have loved you, had you but asked.” As soon as she said it she wished she hadn’t, seeing Ereinion’s face twisted in long-held pain.

“Ai, you tear me in two with your words, Celebrían.” He moaned, shielding his eyes with his arm.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything—” she wrapped her arms around him, knowing she could only offer cold comfort. But he held her back, bending over her to hide his face in her shoulder.

“If you want to leave my house,” He said, muffled in her shoulder. “I will not stop you. I understand.”

She jerked back to see his eyes averted. “Ereinion.” She framed his face with her hands, tugging him back to her. His eyes slid away from her face, low and red. “Ereinion, listen to me. Do you think I hate you for loving one of the best elves in the world? No. Do you think you deceived me by hiding it? No. You have only ever been honest and true with me. I knew your friendship and care for me sprang out of your love for him, you said as much at the dock. That initial regard has grown into something that can stand on its own, and it will not fall with a revelation like this. You have not betrayed me by loving my husband— I’m inclined to think you _wiser_ for it. I only wish,” she faded from her reprimand, watching Ereinion shiver as his gaze lifted to stare glassy-eyed at her. “I only wish there were two Elronds, that we could both be happy.”

His eyes closed, and she let him pull away. “I am glad,” he said, finally, the lines of his face deepening. “That at least one of us is happy, or has a hope for happiness. I would not wish that anyone would love as I love and not have it returned.” He turned to leave, but he held on to her hand. She gripped it back, tight, and together they walked out of the halls.

 

When she woke the next morning he was gone. He stayed away for a year. She wrote Faelivrin, asking if she knew where he was without mentioning the reason he was gone. She replied back that Ereinion sometimes wandered, overwhelmed by the past. It seemed there were wounds that not even The Halls could heal. So Celebrían waited.

She didn’t worry much if he would return— she understood his need for solitude. Her fear lay in what his heart could do to him in the quiet, how it could leave him to bleed out on the sand.

The house echoed without him. She took to mostly sleeping outside, waking next to Ulmondil covered in dew and aching with cold. Her elven blood could handle cold well enough, but she found that these days she was weaker and more susceptible to pain. Her scars tugged at her, tight and purple over her skin.

She missed him.

Six months after he left she walked the beach to find a seashell small and bright enough to fit on her beads.

 

He returned late one night while she sat in the library. His hair was bleached lighter for being long in the sun, but something of his weariness seemed to have drained out while he was gone. His shoulders didn’t stand straight, but neither did he walk like he was carrying a wound.

She contemplated him over the corner of the couch as he turned into the kitchen, waiting. He caught her eye through the entryway, an apologetic smile on his face.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, and he nodded.

The beads glinted on the kitchen table.

He paused, curious. Then, slow, awed realization. She watched as he brushed them with the tips of his fingers, reverent. “Are these yours?” He asked, voice hoarse from disuse.

“They are. Could you bring them here?” She closed her book.

He brought them to her, slipping them into her palm before sitting opposite her, his usual seat. “Where did you get them?”

“Erestor. Before I left. Though this,” she held up the shell: a small, speckled thing twisting around the cord next to the citrine bead. “I added later.”

They regarded each other for a long time. “I felt your footsteps follow me up and down the whole breadth of Aman,” he said at last, his gaze heavy on her. “Drawing me out of my sorrow and self-pity. I find I cannot escape you for long.”

She grinned, nudging his leg with her foot. “You should know better than to try, _mellon nîn._ Now, you should take off your boots and make us some tea.”

 

~*~

 

Elrond’s hand found the beads, hanging loosely from her wrist. There were eleven beads now, a silver bead stamped with a tree for Estel and a final wooden one for Faelivrin circling the end.

“Your thoughts?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Nothing, only that hearing of him speak of his love for me again sobers me. I find I wish as you do, that there were somehow two of me, so that he could be loved as he wishes.” He paused, looking out over the grasses. She followed his gaze, looking up to the white moon. The silence grew between them.

“Are you finished with your tale, my love?” Elrond asked at last.

“Why, are you tired of hearing me speak?” She ran a hand down his arm, twining her hand with his.

“Of course not.” He caressed her cheek and she leaned into his palm, humming. “Tell me everything— I want to hear everything.”

 

~*~

 

Faelivrin returned the next summer to help Celebrían scout out a site for her new home, but they were soon distracted. Faelivrin was an incandescent presence, waking her early to sprint to the beach for a swim in the sunrise, or taking her on long overnight hikes to find rare flowers to surprise Ereinion with in a bowl on the kitchen table. More often than not she would sneak in Celebrían’s room at night and they would trade stories under the covers.

“No, you don’t understand, they were _livid_ when Finrod returned— I didn’t think that the Towers of Tirion could shudder so, just with all the pent-up energy of only _two people,_ and really, they were the only ones who had their panties in a twist about it,” Faelivrin whispered to Celebrían under the cover of her quilt. Celebrían had almost her entire fist shoved in her mouth, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.

“So what do they decide to do, our gracious king and queen? They decide to hold a fucking _banquet—_ oh, we must honor our son, we love him so— all, of course, through clenched teeth— their seneschal, an elf named Rúmil, this poor fellow had to organize what must have been the most passive-aggressive feast in the history of the world, only he got his revenge well and true for he slipped Olórin onto the guest list, and you can only _imagine,_ my dear, what became of _that._ ” Faelivrin dissolved into giggles.

“I cannot! You must tell me, you must!” Celebrían wheezed, laughing so hard it hurt.

“No! We must sleep, hush, we must sleep!” Faelivrin tried to calm her breathing to no avail. “Ai, we must sleep! For I think I have found the spot to build your house and we must get up early to see it in all its glory.” She threw off the quilt, hoisting herself out of bed. “Besides, my poor brother is probably sick of us.”

“Give me a hint, at least.” Celebrían leaned up on her elbow, still hiccupping with subdued laughter.

She sighed. “Alright. First, Rúmil set out the Dorwinion Red, which you _know_ Olórin has a weakness for—”

“No!” Celebrían bit down on the quilt, overcome again.

“Hush, you! That’s all. Bright and early, you hear!” Faelivrin waggled her finger at Celebrían, slipping out the door.

She fell asleep fast after that, still smiling, and though she woke the next morning tangled up in bad dreams, she couldn’t remember them.

Faelivrin, true to her word, knocked on her door just as the sky was turning grey. “Come on now, we have to get there on time.”

Celebrían dressed and followed Faelivrin to kitchen, surprised to find Ereinion waiting for them.

“My dear brother thought he’d tag along,” She explained.

“It’s not like I was getting any sleep anyway,” He grumbled, deep in a cup of strong tea.

“Come along daffodil, let’s go!” Faelivrin strode out the front door, already on her way.

 _Daffodil?_ Celebrían mouthed at Ereinion.

 _Don’t ask,_ Ereinion replied, his face flat. Then he stood, stretched, and together they went out the door.

Faelivrin would have made a good high queen. She walked over the dew-spangled grass with an effortless authority, long braid whipping out behind her in the mist. Salt and the smell of flowers mixed in the air, filling Celebrían’s lungs and scooping out the last musty tangles of bad dreams from her chest. Faelivrin led them around the back, pressing into the interior of the continent. She knew where she was going and Celebrían and Ereinion followed, enjoying the quiet and the feel of dew seeping into their clothes. Faelivrin picked a path through the tall grass, grasshoppers and moths fluttering around her, the strange snapping smell of bugs rising with them. They occasionally landed in Faelivrin’s hair, giving her an ephemeral crown. Celebrían thought her scars only served to make her strength more recognizable. It was an endless comfort to see someone like her living fully in the world, to experience that waterfall of vitality and know there was hope somewhere at the end of these long years.

“What are you thinking of?” Ereinion fell into step beside her.

“Your sister,” she replied.

“Only good things, I’m sure!” Faelivrin called back, forging ahead through a copse of raspberry bushes.

“Naturally,” Celebrían called back, brushing away a spider’s web from the path. She inclined her head back to Ereinion. “She gives me hope.”

Ereinion’s smile was fond. “Me too.”

They walked for a few miles more, the sun beginning to stain the mist around them a dusky pink, the shadows beneath the trees fading away into deep purple. Steep moss-covered rocks stuttered across the valleys, crumbling up into peaks. The song of water hovered nearby, hidden from view.

Faelivrin threaded her way through the valleys, finally coming to pause around the bend of a stand of linden trees. “I think this is the place, my dear,” she said, turning to let Celebrían see.

Imladris. It looked like Imladris in spring. A thin horse-tail waterfall sprung from the high cliff, wisping away into a stream that grew as it ran down to a wide plain of lavender, waving away into the east. While this place was more open than mountain-ringed Imladris, she could almost hear music, drifting in her window from the Hall of Fire. Mist, light as a dream, curled in the dawning light and wound around her feet. At her side Ereinion leaned against a tree, contemplative. He looked lost in some memory, watching the sun rise over the plain in red streaks.

“I think you’re right,” Celebrían replied, her lungs full of lavender.

 

The house took another three hundred years to build. Ereinion remarked that perhaps two elleth building a house alone in the wilderness wasn’t the most efficient way of doing things, but they were having too much fun to care. Ulmondil helped for the first few years, cheery little fellow that he was, but finally passed in the lavender field, fat and old and happy. Celebrían grieved his loss, but couldn’t find it in her to be sorry. He was a true friend till the end, and deserved the long rest.

Faelivrin could only visit in the summer and even then not every summer, extending the building further. Celebrían as well found that the fatigue nipping at her heels never went away, but paced around the edges of her waking hours. Naps, once as foreign to her as Aman itself, became routine. This change of pace suited Faelivrin fine, and often she would build by herself after making Celebrían a bower of sweet grass to nest in. Despite these setbacks, it did, eventually, rise from the ground. There was a deep cellar carved into the rock (a hundred years’ work in itself,) and above it a real, true house; with a kitchen and a sunroom, a library with books and water piped in from the rock, a dining room and a long table (for _parties)_ windows and blankets and _bedrooms,_ bedrooms for her family— for Elrohir and Elladan and Arwen and herself and Elrond and a guestroom covered in seashells and—by the valar it was _real,_ it was hers, and all she needed was her family to fill it.

She began to split her time between her house and Ereinion’s, bringing the blue blanket back to her new house but leaving Elrond’s cloak in Ereinion’s second bedroom, keeping her claim. He didn’t sleep over as often, but it was a rare week that he didn’t sleep at least one night at her new cottage. Little trinkets and books made their way into the corners of the house, old spines of older books cracked over tables and bookmark ribbons slipped under covers. Often he would bid her goodnight as she walked back to her home, only to find her out on his porch in the dawn, drinking tea. She would offer him a cup, and together they would go to the tapestries.

 

The boy came to Elrond ragged and dirty, flanked by Elrohir and Elladan. He couldn’t be more than six, his nose running and his grey eyes staring up, defiant.

“Who is this?” Ereinion leaned over to ask.

“Aragorn, son of Arathorn, I believe.” Celebrían replied. “Of Elros’ line.”

Elrond took one look at the boy before gathering him up in his arms, gentle hands wiping away dust and tear-tracks from that small face.

 _Oh._ Celebrían knew that look. “It appears, Ereinion, that I have another son.”

“How do you mean?” He turned to her, puzzled.

“I’ve seen that look countless times, most often when Elladan came weeping into his office with a scraped knee. Elrond is going to adopt that boy.” She reached up, her fingers hovering a breath away from that tiny, stern face. Her heart clenched. “I wish I could meet him,” she said, faint.

 

She watched Aragorn, or Estel as he was called now, as closely if not more so than she watched Elrond now, desperate for every moment of her almost-son’s short lifespan. And he was, really, her son, even though she shared him with his true-born mother. Celebrían thought it was perhaps a selfish of her, but she loved Estel as Elrond did, immediately and completely. The twins and Arwen took him in right away, and it wasn’t long before Glorfindel could be found most nights reading to a sleepy Estel slumped on his chest, cozy in some nook or another. Erestor, ever more fond of children than adults, proved to be a good teacher for Estel’s studious if restless nature, and Celebrían couldn’t help but notice how pleased he was to be teaching such a bright boy.

Celebrían felt a swell of pride at how her family folded around this child so completely, wrapping him up in their love. He was so stern for such a tiny thing, but as she watched he bloomed into a calm, meditative young man.

So focused was she on him that she almost failed to notice the long, introspective looks her daughter gave to the increasingly handsome young ranger. Celebrían’s brow furrowed. Elrond, too, noticed, and together their looks of increasing concern mirrored each other in the tapestry.

 

The lantern wick guttered, low.

“Ereinion.” She said, closing her book.

“Hm?” He looked up from his end of the couch.

“Arwen isn’t going to sail.” There. She said it. Her throat burned.

Realization fell over his face. “Estel.”

She nodded, tears falling fast— she buried her face in her arms, drawing her knees up until she felt she could shrink, just shrink away into nothing.

His hands pressed down gently on her shoulders, brushing back her hair from her damp face. “I’m so sorry, Celebrían.”

She shuddered, biting down on the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste blood. All the visions, the daydreams—Arwen leaping off the boat and into her arms, finally, _finally,_ here, finally _together_ again— disintegrated into the shadows.

 

~*~

 

Elrond’s gaze broke with pain, and he gathered Celebrían up to press his face hard into her collarbone. She wound her hands tight in his hair, tight enough to hear him gasp as it stung against his scalp. _Our daughter—our bright shining star—_

“She knew, you know,” The space behind Celebrían’s eyes throbbed, sharp. “She knew the day I left that we wouldn’t see each other again.”

Elrond nodded, tears falling thick and fast on her shift. His hands tightened, bunching up loose fabric under his fists. “You should have been there, my love— all those years—”

She sighed. “I was, or at least I was as close as I could be.”

“And was that enough?” He asked.

“No.” She bit out. “ _No._ But I clung to everything I could, watching her. And Estel— our _son—_ ” She closed her eyes, remembering. “My heart aches without them, but Elrond— I am so _proud._ ”

When he pulled back to smile at her it was a ragged thing, lit with heartbreak and delight in equal measure. “How is it that two such children came to me?” He asked. “Middle Earth never before saw such beauty, nor such strength. Nor such joy, in truth, though it were mingled with sorrow.”

“I saw them wed, at the end,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “We took a basket of supplies and just _stayed.”_

“Good.” Elrond kissed her hand. “ _Good._ ”

 

~*~

 

Celebrían and Ereinion sat on the hall floor, watching, always watching. Ereinion hadn’t stopped crying, not since Barad-dûr fell and the Great Eye burned itself up in writhing flame, and Celebrían found tears in her eyes more often than not. Celebrían thought that Ereinion’s heart, abruptly cut from the great darkness weighing on it, now flew light and loose in his chest. He almost stumbled around the world now, as unsure and blind in this new light as a faun.

There was a damp patch on Ereinion’s shoulder where she leaned, his arm slung around her shoulders. At his side a half-finished bottle of wine nestled down in a basket full of bread and fruit, grapes spilling over onto the piled cushions and the wooden floor. Next to it laid a box tied with ribbon, a small honey-lavender cake decorated all over with marzipan leaves and vines tucked inside, ready for later.

Estel had nearly collapsed some time ago in the Halls of Healing, taxing his strength even to the last. Now he lay sleeping in some hidden guestroom, Legolas and Gimli keeping faithful watch outside. The two of them sat slumped against the door, chatting, keeping anyone from entering (or exiting, as it were.)

“Now _that,”_ said Ereinion, grinning wide. “Is something I never thought I’d see in all my days. His father is going to have a _fit._ ”

“Which one?” She giggled. Legolas sagged against Gimli’s side; their weary faces alight with peace. “I dare say neither father has much love for the other— whether the Greenwood or Erebor will stand to their combined bellowing will be a near thing. Ah, but here are the hobbits!”

Merry and Pippin scurried up, two huge bundles in their arms. _Out of the way, move!_ They shoved through the protesting pair to slip inside (and in truth, who could stand before a hobbit for long?) subduing their glee to gently rouse Estel. _Up slugabed! Some curious folk sent us here with presents, and if you don’t open them soon then Pippin here shall!_ Merry grinned, tongue stuck between his teeth, tossing his bundle on Estel’s feet.

Estel blinked suspiciously at the two of them, only to jerk awake at the sight of the packages, hand flying to the jewel at his throat.

Arwen was here.

 

Minas Tirith was _spangled_ in flowers— white flowers dusting the streets like snow, their crushed perfume rising in the air as a visible cloud of shimmering light. They burst from every conceivable corner— between cracked walls, under rubble, rushing up from the churned ground of Pelennor, twining around Oliphaunt bones and discarded helmets, caught up in the hair of children and behind old soldier’s ears—the city welcomed her King, settling into her rightful domain at last. The ragged people pulled out their last fineries, peasants walking like nobles down the war-torn streets, singing and crying and shouting to the crystal-blue sky— the smell of cooking food and of spices wafted from every street corner as every person still capable of holding a ladle prepared for the celebration, which, for most, had already begun. The wounded found rest, refugees found warm, inviting shelter, and through all the bustle flowers drifted around the feet of the city. _The King! The King! The Heir of Elendil has returned, the King!_

Into this glorious chaos strode Arwen, and suddenly it seemed the city _gasped,_ its many-eyed gaze turning to see this new wonder in its midst. She walked down the avenues into the heart of the city, surely the brightest thing in all creation, her hand resting on her father’s arm. The city folk paused their jubilee to watch the procession of elves, sparkling like a banner of stars over the streets. A few bowed, transfixed.

Elrond was already weeping, staring as he was with utter adoration at his only daughter. Elrohir and Elladan flanked them, swift and sure as twin rivers, and a secret glance passed between them at the call of _King Elessar!_ Glorfindel and Erestor, arm-in-arm, followed close behind, the sun and moon in harmony.

Together with the rest of their retinue they made a long trail through the city, a stream of mithril flowing up the peak. It was almost time.

Ereinion broke out the cake and they ate it with their fingers, sucking honey off their palms. The wine dwindled.

_At last._

At last, they crested the peak of the citadel. A wind surged up out of the west, lifting Elven and Gondorian banners alike up over the city, sending Arwen’s hair flying through with flowers. Estel stood tall at the foot of the White Tree, his hand pressed to his heart. Their eyes caught.

 _Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!_ _Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world!_

 

Celebrían and Ereinion remained in the halls long after the celebration faded into the early hours of the morning, spread out as close to the tapestry as they could manage.

Some time before Estel and Arwen had wisely slipped away to some secluded bower, and many of the revelers went home soon after. However, a few straggled behind. Gimli and Legolas were passed out on the lawn, curled around each other like sleeping puppies. Glorfindel and Erestor weren’t much better off, snoozing in an alcove with their robes in shambles, hair unbraided and tangled. The twins, having found great companionship among the two mischievous hobbits, bracketed either side of their slumbering friends. Even Olórin snored softly, Frodo and Sam tucked safely under his cloak.

Only Elrond remained awake, standing still at the precipice of the citadel and staring out over the plains to the grey harbinger of the sun. He sang under his breath, almost too soft to make out what he was saying.

_Good-bye!—no, do not grieve that it is over, /The perfect hour; /That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover, /Flits from the flower. /Grieve not—it is the law. Love will be flying— /Yes, love and all. /Glad was the living—blessed be the dying. /Let the leaves fall.²_

Then he turned and walked back down the lawn, the last of the crumpled flowers scattering in his wake.

 

Celebrían and Ereinion gathered their things and walked out of the Halls. The moon drifted over the water, lost in a thousand shimmering glances. Night sounds rose from the dunes and cliffs, the muted chirps of small things, the rustling hiss of grass. The tide was leaving, and the waves curled small and subdued over the damp, hard sand. Celebrían felt hollow and full at once, like a bright star flickered in the emptiness of her chest. Overhead, an owl made a silent journey to its nest. The night circled on, leaning towards rising day.

 

Celebrían and Faelivrin waded through the shallows, letting their dresses hang down and soak up the salt. Earlier that morning Ereinion went to the tapestries alone, as he was sometimes wont, and the two elleth had a little while to themselves before he came back.

“What are you thinking, my dear? You are unusually pensive.” Faelivrin bent, scooping up a shell and skipping it over the tide pools.

“About solitude,” Celebrían mused. “I realize I have scarce spoken with anyone outside of you and your brother all these long years. Imladris seems like a bustling citadel compared to the life I lead now.”

“That’s not an entirely bad thing— are you saying you are lonely?” She squinted out over where her shell fell beneath the surface, watching the ripples.

“No, I am quite content, save for missing those I left behind. Though I have changed since I sailed, and I think the person I was before would not be so satisfied.” The waves tugged at her feet and she dug her toes deep into the silt. Minnows darted around her, hugging the shallows.

“I think, perhaps, there are some memories that require lots of open spaces to spread out in. The ocean can swallow most anything, in my experience.” Faelivrin picked up another shell, scattering the minnows.

Celebrían hummed in agreement, and they fell back into the rhythm of the waves and the ripple of their feet.

 _Celebrían—!_ A call drifted over the dunes.

“Did you hear something?” She turned to Faelivrin, puzzled.

Faelivrin glanced behind them. “Ah, there’s your answer.”

Ereinion sprinted over the dunes, hair flying.

“Dear me, I wonder what he’s on about.” Faelivrin chuckled as he tripped in the shallows.

Celebrían didn’t dare move, didn’t dare _breathe_ , not until Ereinion came to stand, panting, before her.

“Celebrían—” he gasped. “He’s _sailing_.”

Now she _couldn’t_ breathe, couldn’t do anything but let herself be wrapped up by the two of them, lifted dripping out of the water, _Elrond—_

Faelivrin laughed for joy. “Well my dear, there goes your solitude! Ai, Ereinion, when do we leave?”

The three of them were packed and gone by sunset.

 

Without the tapestries, they didn’t know exactly when the ship would arrive, only who sailed. Her parents would join Elrond, along with Olórin, Glorfindel, Erestor and the last of Elrond’s councilors, along with two of the hobbits, Frodo and Bilbo. The twins stayed behind to care for Imladris in its twilight years, and to watch over Arwen and Estel. Others sailed as well, but they were few, and fewer still were those coming to greet them.

A couple other elves were camped out over the beach where they were, but no one of note. Before, when elves poured into Aman quick as water, these docks and the surrounding village held many elves, but now the stream had slowed to a trickle and many abandoned the beach for Tirion and other cities scattered across Aman. The avenues and houses, left empty, echoed the sea like shells. Celebrían didn’t mind. The emptiness, like Faelivrin said, helped hold everything she felt.

“I mislike the idea of my grandparents being here to interrupt,” Celebrían grumbled, plopping down next to Ereinion at their little campfire.

Faelivrin snorted. “Have no fear. As soon as the ship arrives they will instantly fall into a mental screaming match with their youngest daughter, which I suspect will continue for a few weeks at least. So long as we stay a few paces away, you shall have a peaceful reunion.”

“You forget their youngest daughter is my _mother,_ someone I am rather eager to see.” Celebrían huffed.

“Well, I can’t help you there. With luck the ship will arrive early and we can avoid the grandparent question entirely.” Faelivrin turned a makeshift spit over the fire, the smell of roast apples smoking up in the early morning. The sky threatened rain, smearing over the horizon in thick, dark folds.

Ereinion’s eyes hadn’t left the horizon for more than a few seconds since the sky lightened enough to see by. Celebrían rested her head on his shoulder.

“Faelivrin,” he whispered, fragile. “You might be right.”

Celebrían followed his eyes, hand bruising tight on his arm. There, _there—_ a shadow breaking the line of the horizon.

“Are you sure—” She hissed, but there was no need for a reply.

“Huh,” Faelivrin stood, surveying the distance. “Eärendil’s son indeed. That was quick.”

Faelivrin stayed behind with the campfire while Ereinion and Celebrían hurried to the furthest edge of the dock, waiting. Others joined them, humming around the periphery.

She felt ready to vibrate out of her skin, to burst into light and fly over the water. Ereinion stood stock-still next to her, a vulnerable, almost fearful look on his face. His gaze remained fixed on the ship, grown now to the size of a fly on the water.

She rubbed his arm. “Ereinion,” she said, and he wrenched his eyes away from the horizon to her. She beamed up at him— was it possible to flame out of your own skin from anticipation alone?— and he grinned—uncertain and overwhelmed, but deliriously happy.

The ship drew nearer, and she began to see figures scuttling about the deck, ducking under sails and weaving around mast lines— Namely one, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, the dark figure at his side only barely keeping him from throwing himself overboard. She laughed, giddy— Erestor, ever faithful, even now. Celebrían for her part didn’t know what to do with her hands, or her voice— she trembled, clutching her hands to her chest—

Elrond hung over the prow on tiptoes, she could see his face now, _Celebrían!_ He called, the sound of his voice lost over the waves. She grinned to see his eyes flicker to who it was that stood next to her and a questioning, broken look came over him. _My lord? My lord!_ Ereinion tensed next to her, his breath fast and shallow.

Glorfindel was singing, snatches of it coming to her off the water, Erestor’s rare, low voice matching him. _The sky spills over us, so full /we forget about days. / Out here, when we touch /the earth turns and we sail /through islands of stars, sink /with a bear’s black fur, /drift in a dog’s coat, become comets /that flare and orbit the night.³_

And then it happened— one moment they were miles away, the next the prow tapped the edge of the dock and Elrond _launched_ himself off the ship and into her arms, mouth hot and clumsy on hers, their hands grasping at cloth, at _skin_ — she sighed.

Finally, finally, _finally._

He pulled back, hands brushing back her hair, his eyes flashing that same citrine amber she’d longed to see alive and alight. “Hello, love,” He said, simply.

Hearing him speak after the long silences of the Tapestries felt like stars washing down her back. “Hello.” Her face was going to break in half from smiling, she knew it.

“I missed you,” He whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. “I missed you so much,” his voice broke.

“Me too,” she managed around the lump rising in her throat. The gulls wheeled about them, surf licking at the edges of the dock and something shifted inside her, a long broken bone clicking back in place. Elrond’s hair fell around her, that sweet sable fall the only thing holding her in place, holding her soul down—

Elrond sucked in a breath, the lines in his face deepening. “Celebrían, Arwen, she—”

“Hush, my love. I know. Another time.” She pressed her hands harder against his spine, drawing him in. Not now, not now. Another time.

He nodded, nuzzling down into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. She hid her face in his shoulder, re-learning his skin and the jump of his pulse. Ai, but he was _warm._ “Elrond,” she smiled, her lips brushing his throat. “Erestor will be cross with me if we keep him and the others waiting much longer. Let me have them for a little while, you can _have_ me later.”

Elrond’s mouth quirked against her bare skin. “I’ll accept that enticing proposition, love. Besides,” his voice grew hushed. “There’s someone else I need to see.” He pressed a final kiss to her neck before stepping away.

Ereinion stood apart, watching Galadriel and Celeborn as they disembarked with the hobbits. The line of his shoulders wavered.

Elrond came to stand behind him. “My lord?” He asked, barely above a whisper.

Ereinion, startled, shifted to face him. “Ereinion, Elrond,” he said, strained. “Call me Ereinion.” They stared at each other, struck still. A thousand years and more filled the space between them.

A hand pressed to Celebrían’s elbow and she turned away to see Glorfindel and Erestor crowding close— then all she could see were the waves of that mass of golden hair as he swung her up into a hug.

“Glorfindel, husband mine, if you’re quite finished suffocating the lady then I should like to have a moment with her.” Erestor’s deadpan came to her muffled by hair.

Glorfindel released her. “Ai, Celebrían,” he chuckled as she kissed his cheek. “The sight of you is a delight to my soul. Tell me, how do you like Aman?”

“Later, dearest, I get her first.” Erestor took her hand, impatient.

“Peace, Erestor.” She laughed, hands slipping around his shoulders. “I missed you too.”

He caught her fast, that seldom smile breaking out over his face. “It has been too long, Celebrían.”

“Careful Erestor, don’t get too happy lest you grow poetic,” she teased, and heard Glorfindel snickering behind his hand. Erestor huffed, but tightened his arms around her.

“Erestor,” she quieted and pulled back. “Thank you. For these.” In her hand lay the beads.

He closed his hands over hers, his green eyes flashing. “You’re welcome. Though these, I believe, are new?” He ran his fingers over the seashell, wooden bead, and silver tree.

“They are,” she replied and turned, searching for Ereinion.

She found him. Elrond had his arms wrapped around Ereinion’s neck, sheltering his face in the crook of his elbow, hands clutched in Ereinion’s tunic and loosened hair. Ereinion curled around Elrond’s smaller form, folding low to hide his grey eyes in Elrond’s shoulders. They clung to each other, trembling. Low words passed between them under the rasp of the water.

She regarded the two of them. Ereinion drew back, pressing a kiss to Elrond’s forehead. Elrond sighed, eyes closed, leaning in.

Something in her vision changed. Or rather, something she had not realized before was brought to light. It was only now, seeing the two of them, that she felt her past and present make peace with each other.

“I did not know you and Gil-galad were close,” Glorfindel mused, hooking his hand around her elbow.

“We weren’t, not until I arrived,” She replied, gripping back. “Come now, where are my parents?”

 

Galadriel and Celeborn were to travel to Tirion to have a proper reception with Finarfin and Eärwen, who had, in fact, been deliberately misinformed as to the time of the ship’s arrival. (“It’s no crime, daughter mine, to want a peaceful arrival, and Olórin owed me a favor.”) Olórin would join them, the sprightly hobbits staying close by his side with promises to come visit Elrond soon. Frodo, in particular, was eager to see the Tapestries.

The rest of them would join Galadriel and pass through Tirion, but only briefly. Elrond had his grandparents to greet, and Glorfindel was eager to reunite with Ecthelion and Elgamoth in particular. Still, Tirion was a day’s walk away by foot, and those on the ship were yet weary from their journey. Nearby, tucked away from the beach, stood a few canopied bowers, waiting for tired travelers to pause before continuing on. There they set up camp to pass the night before continuing the next morning.

Faelivrin and Glorfindel, instant, _dangerous_ friends, soon had a bonfire lit in the center ring; packs, blankets, and pillows scattered around the rim. Celebrían lounged between her mother and Erestor, watching Faelivrin spearing pears and hunks of bread for the fire.

“She is a force of nature,” Erestor muttered under his breath, following her line of sight.

Celebrían smiled, patting his arm. “I pity you, dear friend. The two of them together are going to be insufferable. Did you know she and I built a house together?”

“By yourselves?” Galadriel asked, fingers brushing light in Celebrían’s hair. Her hands had not stopped caressing her only daughter, not since she first swept Celebrían up on the dock.

“Yes, by ourselves. It took us long enough, nearly three hundred years, but we did it,” she replied. Sparks tingled along her scalp—her heart hadn’t slowed since that morning. She felt surrounded, gasping under the sudden wave of love and affection enveloping her.

“Impressive indeed,” said Erestor. “I am looking forward to seeing it.”

Celebrían nodded. Across the fire circle her eyes caught Ereinion and Elrond over by the edge overlooking the dunes. Elrond stood as she had never seen him stand before, slipping easily into his lord’s side, canting towards Ereinion with his whole body. Ereinion, for the first time since she had met him, looked like a _king_ , steel-straight, shoulders sure and straight as the horizon itself— they were falling into their old steps, a well-matched pair. Each gesture between them— a nod, a wave of a hand, a glance— spoke of devotion. She had worried for Ereinion, knowing his tender heart, but he seemed content and happy. Looking at them Celebrían felt once more the feeling of wholeness, of her heart righting itself. Some of the electricity pricking her spine abated.

Bilbo waddled down to join Faelivrin and Glorfindel, fussing over the food. Frodo, wan and thin but at peace, dozed against Olórin’s side, covered with one long wing. Olorín had changed on his journey back, shedding his old garb and taking up once more his Maia form. His wings were useful canopies, soft and warm. He and Celeborn spoke quietly together, Frodo safe between them.

Celebrían stared at the young hobbit, thoughtful. She hoped that she might get a chance to speak with him in the future, but she did not know how, or how she would begin to discover what to say.

“My lady,” Elrond came to stand before her, shaking her from her thoughts. “Would you join me on a walk? I find I want to explore this strange new world.”

Erestor rolled his eyes, muttering. Celebrían pinched him and rose to take her husband’s hand. “Let me be your guide, my love.”

They managed to make it out of eyesight with their dignity intact, but it was a near thing. By the Valar, his _hands—_ her pulse roared in her ears, eyes searching for a dark corner, _any_ dark corner— they found one just outside the village, a grassy dell surrounded on most sides by boulders and pines.

“Elrond—” she sighed, his mouth open and _wet_ on her neck, sucking— his hands already under her dress, gripping her thighs and pressing her back against the rock. “Elrond, clothes _off_.” She shoved him back, scrambling along the fastenings of his robe. Her spine was on fire, her heart leaping. She could feel herself grow slick, by the Valar, when was the last time that happened? “This dress is fragile and I don’t intend to return looking _completely_ debauched.”

“Ah, Celebrían,” he grinned, wicked. “Why not? They’ll know anyway. Besides,” he surged back against her, hips rolling and his robe slipping down over his elbows, revealing creamy smooth skin— Ai, that _skin—_ “Besides, I intend to leave marks,” he licked a stripe up her neck, over her scars—he froze, jerking back. “Unless you don’t want that.” He faltered, stumbling.

“No, _no,_ ” She pulled him back, “Leave marks, love, I want you to—”

He returned to her neck, and she moaned, keening under his tongue. One hand slipped under her dress to find her breast, the other teasing around her thigh, skating around the hem of her underclothes. “Elrond, _now,_ please—” she threw her head back against the rock, panting. Her skin kindled, too tight.

The rest of his robe fell to pool at his feet, and he knelt before her, bunching up her dress around her waist. She fisted her hands in his hair, slinging a leg over his shoulder and there, _there—_ his tongue pressed against her, breath hot— She gasped, grinding down on his mouth, hips stuttering— “Elrond— I’m— stop, stop—”

He looked up at her, licking his lips. “You want me to stop?”

“I—I’m close—” Her face flushed, thoughts unraveling in her head. “Need you close, want to come with you—”

She hauled him up against her and yanked open his leggings to free his cock, already red and dripping in her hand.

“Celebrían,” he whimpered, pushing up into her fist, smearing her palm.

“Here,” She panted, leveraging up against the rock and wrapping her legs around his waist. He held her, shaking, his chest and neck flushed, and she slipped a hand between them to press his cock between her legs. He slid inside— and _oh,_ by all that was _holy—_ she rocked against him, taking him deeper, “Elrond, _move.”_

He jerked up—fully inside now, cock twitching deep in the bowl of her hips, teeth sharp on her shoulder—then, with a groan, he caught her rhythm and together they rolled against the rock.

“Ah—” She bit her lip, hard—it had been so long, he felt so _good_ —“Elrond, _love—”_ his teeth scraped the edge of one of her scars and light burst behind her eyes, too much too much _too much—“Elrond!”_

He flinched at her voice, stilling. “Celebrían?”

She gulped for air, her chest heaving. “Maybe— maybe no marks.” The wild current under her skin, unabated since morning, whipped around her bones— Panic, old panic with a new face, jumped in her throat.

His eyes searched her face, worry etched in the line between his eyebrows. “We can stop.” He whispered, brushing back her hair.

“No, I don’t want to stop— just,” She laughed, too high. “I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Ok, ok.” He kissed under her eye, her temple. His hips tilted against her, his cock nudging further in. “Is this alright?” he asked, lips skimming her ear.

She shivered. “Yes, just like that—”

Her pleasure, when it came, struck hot through her and she moaned, falling limp to Elrond’s shoulders. His came a few moments later, shuddering, and together they slumped to the grass.

“Alright?” he panted where he lay against her chest.

She nodded, the sparks along her arms and legs receding. _With me. One, two, three, four— hold—_ Calm returned to her in slow pulses as Elrond ran careful hands along her bare stomach, avoiding her scars. That felt good, his warm closeness.

Slick and come dribbled along her thighs. “Ai, Elrond, you’ve ruined my dress,” she grouched, tugging his hair. Somewhere in the grass her underclothes were undoubtedly in worse shape.

He shrugged, unapologetic and not a little smug. “We’ll wash it off in the ocean. Besides, whatever shape I return you in will be easily outmatched by whatever shape Glorfindel leaves Erestor in when _they_ finally sneak back.”

“Is that a challenge?” she retorted.

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her taut, pink nipple. “Perhaps.”

 

As it were, when they returned they did so in a disheveled state that everyone knew was the result of passion, but could conceivably be passed off in polite company as a playful romp in the water. Faelivrin and Bilbo, masters of the roasting arts, had prepared a spread of hot, toasted things laid out on a blanket. She and Glorfindel sat next to Erestor and Bilbo, trading stories and filling in Bilbo’s knowledge of the earlier ages. Galadriel and Olórin leaned with Celeborn and Frodo against a few pillows, smearing cheese and honey over toast and licking it off their fingers, laughing. Olórin had not a few drops of honey in his feathers, still adjusting to this familiar yet new form.

Celebrían took a pear to share with Elrond, noting how Ereinion stayed close to his sister, leaving space. Having him nearby, she realized, helped the flickering feeling lingering in the back of her throat. Inwardly, she sighed, a single needle of melancholy pricking her. Would that he could share in her happiness. Would that she could surround herself with the both of them.

 

~*~

 

Elrond grew pensive, his fingers drifting in a stray lock of her hair. “Do you like my touch on your scars, then? Or would you have me avoid them?”

She looked at her arms, the patchwork stretches of shiny skin. “It depends on the day,” she said after a long pause. “Feeling you against me, all of me, is never bad. It is just _too much,_ sometimes, though those times are becoming less.”

“That’s good.” His eyes turned somber, and he ran his hand back along her arm. “In truth, after that day I was afraid. There were times when you would pull away, a strange and fell look in your eyes. In those moments I felt I saw you as if from a distance, too far away for me to call your name.”

She pressed his hand down against a red gash. “You can call for me. I will hear you.”

He nodded and sagged against the cushions, his thumb skimming circles over the inside of her wrist. “Ai, but I am weary.” A frown deepened across his face. “Now something Ereinion said begins to trouble me further. I feel that, as we spoke, Ereinion spent too long in our conversation distancing himself from us. Perhaps out of a misplaced sense of propriety, but nonetheless I mislike it, especially after hearing of how close you are.”

“How do you mean, distancing? Next to you and our children he is the most important person in my life, why would he—” She hesitated. “I had noticed that he was spending less time around us, but I assumed he was giving us space to have a—” she waved her hands. “Second honeymoon or some sort. You are only recently returned, after all. What is this about distance?”

“Only that he seemed to spend a lot of unnecessary time assuring me that he wouldn’t “press a claim” or “disrespect you” in any way.” Elrond curled his fingers in quotes around the words. “He thinks you pity him for his love for me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then he is a fool. It troubles me greatly that he thinks thus. He has been my constant friend all these years, and now he thinks he can, what, slip away into the shadows? He is closer to me than blood. I won’t let him.”

“Than blood?” Elrond quirked his lips into a wry grin.

“What now, husband, are we jealous?” Her fingers found their way under the shift and pinched his side.

“And what if I am?” He teased. “My wife, stolen away in the night by my best friend! It sounds like a sordid novel.”

She giggled. “Ai, Ereinion, I am held captive by this jealous old storm-crow!” she threw a dramatic hand over her brow, laughing. “Rescue me!”

Elrond gave her a look. “This jealous old storm crow has a merciless vixen for a wife, surely.”

“Too true, my love,” she smiled, quieting. “But what of our lonely wolf?” An apprehensive feeling bloomed inside her.

“Hearing you tell of your love for him, it disturbs me too, the way he spoke to me. He feels that he must be second in all our affections—Does he think we don’t love him? Does he think we don’t trust him? Does he value himself so little?” Elrond looked beside himself.

“I don’t know. I think this pit has proven to be deeper than even we first thought. And, perhaps, he doesn’t trust himself? His first instinct when I discovered his secret was to run.” Her voice grew soft. “He wants you badly, my love.”

Elrond sighed. “He does.”

“I don’t blame him.” Her hands framed his face. “I feel the same.”

Elrond leaned forward to press a kiss to her mouth, lingering in the shade of her hair. “I think we should sleep. Our words and his weigh heavily on me, and I have not the wisdom to bring peace to the heartbreak in our midst.”

“I agree.” She slipped off his lap. “And what shall you do, come morning? Mend all the broken hearts in Aman?”

He grinned. “No. I’m going pay a visit to the most practical person I know and ask for advice.”

“And who could that be?” She asked, curious.

He winked at her. “Why, Bilbo Baggins, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Roses by Mary Oliver  
> 2\. A Farewell by Harriet Monroe  
> 3\. Sailing by Stars by Judith Minty


	2. Elrond

Elrond

Elrond set out early the next morning, the dusky pink mist cool on his face. Celrbrían joined him, and in this morning she seemed to be made out of the silver flashes glinting on the river running by their house. Her hair floated in the air like diamond-spun spider webs.

After their conversation last night he felt they had cut down thickets of brambles that had grown up between them. He still felt sore and cut-up inside, but when he looked over at her and saw her scars, he didn’t feel the bolt of apprehension he felt before. He thought they looked like veins of mithril striking through her. He didn’t know what she would think of that, if she would think it gruesome or macabre, so he kept silent. But he held her hand and together they walked through the grass to Bilbo and Frodo’s house.

When they arrived sometime around midmorning, Bilbo was already lounging out front in a patch of foxgloves, smoking like a chimney. The smell of flowers and smoke, like honey-sweet incense, blew over them in the morning breeze.

“Good morning, Master Bilbo!” Elrond called, unable to keep himself from beaming at the sight.

Bilbo cracked open an eye, then rose to his feet. “My Lord Elrond! You know how I feel about unexpected visitors. I suppose,” He twisted his mouth around his pipe, drawling, “You have a good reason to disturb my fine nephew and I on this fine, _quiet_ morning?”

Elrond laughed aloud. “Is the desire to see a beloved friend good enough?”

“Absolutely not. Ah, but where are my manners? Bilbo Baggins, at your service, my Lady. I don’t believe we’ve met. Or, if we have, this senile old mind of mine has misplaced the memory.” He bowed low to Celebrían.

“Well met, Master Bilbo. I am Celebrían. I believe we met when you arrived, but it was a rather overwhelming experience.” She nodded her head in return.

“That it was, my dear, that it was. Perhaps this time I shall keep track of the memory, but if I don’t then I shall have the pleasure of seeing such a beautiful elf for the first time all over again.” He winked.

“Sly old scoundrel,” Elrond muttered, stepping over the foxgloves to Bilbo.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I am a perfect gentlehobbit and I’ll not have you impugning my good name. Frodo my lad, we’re being invaded by elves again!” He called through the open window of their little cottage.

Frodo peeked through the window, his dark hair billowing in the breeze. “My Lord Elrond! And my Lady too. I’ll put on some tea.” Elrond was struck by how well he looked, the familiar red rims around his eyes replaced with soft wrinkles. Aman and the comfort of his Uncle had been good to him.

“I’ll join you, Master Hobbit. Better to leave these two to their own devices,” Celebrían answered, and ducked inside the low round door of the cottage.

“Ah, she has left you to fend for yourself,” Bilbo observed before plopping back down on the grass. “Smart of her. Come now old friend, sit with me awhile. What is the reason for your visit?”

 

~*~

 

Interlude: Celebrían 

Celebrían sat on a small wooden stool by the kitchen counter, spooning dried herbs into little cheesecloth bags for tea.

“There we are,” Frodo hooked the full kettle over the fireplace. “That’s better. Good, you found the tea. Uncle thinks making tea this way is barbaric, but I find we’re both too particular to tolerate drinking from the same pot.” He smiled and pulled up a stool next to her.

“Did you know Elrond likes to chew his tea leaves?” She shook some loose leaves into a separate cup.

“I didn’t, though it doesn’t surprise me.” He smiled. “He’s had so long to get old, I think that’s quite enough time to go from particular to strange.” His voice was soft and quiet, like a small bird nesting in the eaves. He looked at her like they had known each other a very long time, and she found that she felt the same.

“That he has,” Celebrían set the jar down.

“Still, chewing tea leaves might be a bit much.” Frodo took the jar and slipped it back on the shelf, wincing.

“Are you alright?” She reached out to him, brushing his shoulder.

“Fine, I’m fine, really.” He sat back down, massaging under his collarbone. “Anniversary,” he said, a weak half-smile on his lips. “A nazgûl stabbed me at Weathertop some time ago. Sometimes it aches, but it’s always worse on the anniversary.”

“Truly?” She leaned forward, concerned.

He nodded. “We were on our way to Rivendell. Strider managed to hold them off long enough for your friend Glorfindel to carry me off to Elrond.”

She paused. Small red lines, thin as spider’s legs, pulsed out under the thin fabric of his shirt collar. “They never really go away, do they?” She said at last.

“No, they don’t.” He looked at her straight with those clear blue eyes. Reaching over, she took his hand. Four fingers and a gap. He held her back, his thumb tracing carefully over the starburst of a burn scar.

“I am very glad we met, Frodo.” She said, some fluttering thing in her chest settling.

“I am very glad too, Celebrían.” He smiled, and the lines around his eyes deepened.

 

~*~

 

 Elrond

“It is, of course, terribly rude of you to drop in uninvited, especially knowing your affection for hobbit victuals and my distain for _burglars_.” Bilbo puffed.

Elrond lay down next to him, leaning up on his elbow to watch bumblebees lurch from flower to flower. “I do have an undying affection for them, yes. It’s not my fault no elf has discovered the secret to your spice cookies.”

“That doesn’t answer my _initial_ question, my lad. Besides, if you were here for the food you would have sent word ahead, hm? You know how we hobbits need to prepare for our meals, we can’t just conjure them out of air like you lot.” He took a long drag on his pipe, blowing smoke rings out over the flowers.

Elrond chuckled. “You’ve caught me there.” He paused, brushing the tip of his finger over the fuzzy back of a bumblebee tangled in the grass. “I’ve come to ask for advice.”

“Ah, you have? Whatever for, o wise elven lord?” Bilbo looked sidelong at him, a keen blue eye searching for clues.

“For advice in love,” Elrond began, but found it difficult to continue.

“You must be in dire straights indeed to come to an old, confirmed bachelor for advice in the ways of love.” He needled gently. “Come now, let’s have it out. Not trouble with the Lady, I hope?”

“Celebrían? No, not at all. With another dear friend of ours.” Elrond lay back against the flowers, folding his hands on his chest.

“Do I know this friend?” Bilbo asked, leaning over to catch his eye.

“I believe you might have met him once or twice—his name is Ereinion Gil-galad.” He coughed. “By the Valar Bilbo, you smoke more than Smaug himself.”

“I’ve got little time and lots of pipeweed left, my Lord. You do the arithmetic. And yes, I do believe I’ve met him once or twice. Big strapping fellow, isn’t he? Wasn’t he the high something or other?” Bilbo neatly looped a passing bee with a smoke ring.

Elrond snorted. “Yes, he was the high something or other. The last High King of the elves. I was his standard bearer, while he lived.”

“I suppose that is very high indeed. And he’s the one with the heart troubles?” Bilbo pursed his lips, chewing on the end of his pipe.

“He is. He’s in love with me.” Elrond closed his eyes, leaden again.

“Oh, that’ll do it. Are you in love with him?” Bilbo asked.

“What? No!” Elrond started up. “I don’t know if you noticed, Master Hobbit, but I happen to be _married._ ”

“Yes I did see that, thank you. And lower your hackles, you jumpy thing, I don’t doubt that you’re very much in love with her. But are you in love with him _as well?_ ” He questioned.

“What do you mean, _as well?_ How could I be in love with another?” Elrond spluttered.

Bilbo shrugged. “You just are. In love with two people, I mean. As I understand it, the dwarves did it quite frequently. Started up little families with just two, yes, but three or four wasn’t uncommon either. “Like little clusters of gems,” Bifur told me. I think he biggest he ever heard of was a group of _seven,_ which, I’ll grant you, is _absurd._ Mind, it’s not for everyone, but it even worked out for a few in the Company before, well, before.” His eyes grew distant for a moment before flickering in return. “I suppose that’s not what you expected now, is it?”

Elrond stared at him, gaping. _Three?_ “Well,” he finally said. “Will wonders never cease? Still, I’ve never heard of three, much less four or more among the elves. What about you Bilbo, are you in love with seven people?”

“As if I could tolerate seven people in my house at any given time, much less than _all_ the time,” he shuddered. “No, I’m a one-love hobbit myself.”

“Oh?” This was news.

“Don’t change the subject.” Bilbo glared at him. “Tell me more about your high whatchamacallit.”

“High King,” Elrond said slowly, “Don’t think I’m forgetting this. We shall return.”

“That, my dear, is something we can return to when I am safely in the ground. You were saying?” Bilbo tapped out the ash from his pipe among the shasta daisies, matter-of-fact.

Elrond slumped back down. “Ereinion. He’s in love with me, has been for millennia. He told me yesterday. Celebrían already knew, of course.”

“Dear me, you elves are slow creatures. Millennia, you say?” He began to scrape out his pipe. “And he never told you until now? What changed?”

“I think he told me by accident. We were discussing how it came to be that a marriage like Glorfindel and Erestor’s had finally come to be accepted, in no small part because of work he did to change the old prejudices.” Elrond tore up the grass at his side, twisting it.

“He did it for you, you mean. I didn’t know such things hadn’t always been accepted among the elves—you all seem so solid and unchanging from my small vantage point. Still, it must be a dreadful bother to change things when all the people you’re trying to move past are still _alive._ At any rate, I don’t know what you’re coming to me for— I think an old hobbit like me would give horrid love advice to an elf. Unless, of course, you _do_ want him? You never did say you didn’t want him back.” Bilbo waggled his eyebrows.

Elrond rolled his eyes. “Oh, I didn’t say, didn’t I? He’s my friend, Bilbo. I want him to be _happy,_ by the Valar. And what about my lady wife? I should think she wouldn’t want to share her husband.”

“You still haven’t said no, and did you miss the part where there were three of you? If your lady wife is amenable then I don’t see why not. It is the most straightforward solution, anyhow. Unless, of course, you don’t like men, or he doesn’t like women, in which case I can’t help you.” Bilbo leaned back to lie beside him, staring up at the clouds.

“No, I don’t want him back, not like how he wants me. But he is very dear to my heart, and somehow I feel that I may lose him over this. If that happens, I might as well have been in love with him for how bereft that will leave me.” He paused. “And, for your information, I like both. Men and women, that is.”

Bilbo glanced sidelong at him. “Well that’s convenient. And what does Celebrían think of him?”

“She may well love him more than I. She tells me they became very close after she sailed. He comforted her when I could not, and even just for that I would love him all my lasting days.” A bumblebee landed on his throat, nuzzling for pollen. “He is so very dear to us,” he said carefully, “I hurt to think of him, longing without respite all these long years.” The bee left, and he reached up to rub at the tingling places where its feet had been.

Bilbo became somber. “I am sorry, dear friend, for your sake and his. I’m afraid there’s no magic spell for broken hearts, other than a change of heart. If there were, I’d have nicked it off Gandalf long ago.”

For the first time Elrond noticed how long Bilbo grew his white hair now, and that he wore the tiniest braid hidden in the thick of it. A small mithril bead winked out at him from the end.

“Well, let’s say, for the sake of argument, what if you did?” Bilbo perked up, shoving past the solemn tone. “Who’s to say it wouldn’t work out? I dare say you elves have enough time to give it a good go.”

Elrond huffed. “You mean if the three of us were to, what, be married?”

“You don’t have to go traipsing down the aisle, you dimwit. But yes, what if the three of you had a go at being in a _romantic entanglement_.” Bilbo elbowed him. “You know if this absolutely isn’t what you want to talk about then we can move on to more pleasant matters, like the smell of scones currently wafting from my kitchen window.”

“No, it’s alright.” He rolled over to look at Bilbo, resting his head on his hand. “Let’s say, for the sake of a game,” he played along, “We discovered that Ereinion was in love with Celebrían as well. Which would be the first obstacle—so far as I know he loves only me, though she is the wiser choice.”

“Obviously.” Bilbo chuffed. “But, again for the sake of argument, let’s say you didn’t know he was in love with her. What if the two of you decided that you both wanted him and you didn’t know how he felt? What would you do then?”

“Ai, this is too snarled for my feeble mind!” Elrond flopped back. “What if this, what if that? What if the three of us did become a “romantic entanglement,” as you say, would we share a bed?” Elrond threw an arm over his eyes, shielding them from the sun.

“You could be in the _middle,_ ” Bilbo drawled.

Elrond choked.

“My my,” Bilbo continued, nonchalant. “You look just as if I’d shoved one of Gandalf’s fireworks up your nose.”

“I look no such way,” Elrond felt his face heat. _Middle._

Celebrían and Frodo arrived with tea just in time to rescue him. “What were you saying, Master Bilbo, that has my husband blushing so? I hope you weren’t too rough with him.” She sat down next to Elrond, handing him a small saucer and teacup.

“Oh, nothing in particular.” Bilbo took the saucer Frodo offered him and closed his eyes over the steam, entirely too pleased with himself.

“Come now Uncle, be gentle.” Frodo sat next to him, leaning a little on Bilbo’s side.

“Of course, my dear boy, though I dare say an elf lord like him shouldn’t have much to fear from a humble hobbit such as myself,” Bilbo beamed, wiping away a smudge of flour dusting Frodo’s cheek.

“That is entirely untrue, Master Burglar.” Elrond grumbled, taking a sip from his teacup.

For a moment the sound of the waves and the wheeling gulls covered them. His thoughts felt scattered with the sea foam, tumbling over strange new shores. He looked to Frodo and Bilbo. Bilbo had his arm around his ( _still so very_ young) nephew, and he leaned over to kiss his head through that dark hair. Frodo leaned his head against Bilbo’s shoulder and closed his eyes, a small smile playing around his mouth.

Celebrían lay back to pillow her head on Elrond’s thigh, idly stirring her tea. Elrond’s hand found her hair, threading through. If he could take a few grains of sand from this beach, a call from the gulls above, and the look Bilbo gave his beloved nephew; if he could take them and bury them in his heart, he thought he would never want for wisdom or peace again.

 

~*~

 

The months stretched out under their feet and Elrond let his thoughts simmer on the back stove, but in his periphery he counted the days until Ereinion invited them over again. Concern had not yet grown into full-blown worry, but its green lizard eye was definitely open a crack. It was some time before Ereinion had them over again, time enough that when he sent the note Elrond and Celebrían gave each other a meaningful look across the kitchen table.

Things went cordially enough, but there was an awkwardness, a hesitancy in how they moved in and out of each other’s space. Elrond hated it. When once they moved in tandem without thought, now there was _deliberation._ In truth it was both their faults, perhaps even more Elrond’s fault than Ereinion’s— they lost the music between them and fell out of synchronization. Celebrían watched from the sidelines, musing alone with her thoughts, but Elrond could tell she was as disquieted as he. When they returned home Elrond left her napping on the couch and went outside to think.

The world hung suspended in the brief golden hour between summer and fall, the dried lavender crumbling away into the dirt to rest. He lay down in the grass, folded his hands over his chest, and breathed deep the smell of sleeping green things. Leaving behind his outer robes, he now wore only a plain shift and leggings and he could feel the small bristles of grass and twigs pricking up through them.

How could he have _missed_ it? How could he not have known? Elrond searched his memories, trying to pinpoint the moment Ereinion’s friendship for him had turned to love, the moment Elrond became blind. He turned it over in his mind like a jewel, light catching the edges and corners of old thoughts, old times. Ereinion Gil-galad. Elrond rubbed absently at his breastbone, his thoughts traveling back to darker, more troubling times.

 

His first memory of Ereinion was a painful one.

 

~*~

 

He and Elros were thirteen when the War of Wrath began. Maglor kept them out of it for as long as he could, but even that effort could only last so long. It was only a few short years later that Eönwë flew over the sea, shining and brilliant and calling all to arms under the banner of the Valar. Maglor and Maedhros answered, even though they were already too far gone, already fraying at the edges. Elrond and Elros followed, unsure, exactly, what else they were supposed to do.

When they arrived, Beleriand _swarmed._ Men, dwarves, elves, and even maia assembled over the great plain, tents and spears and banners shooting up like rockets in the warm air. The air buzzed with the sound of a dozen different tongues, the slick crack of weapons practice and maintenance ringing out over the whinny of horses and shouted orders.

Their little band came deep in the night, driven on by the threat of orcs and wargs slicing through the countryside. Maglor’s hand was firm on Elrond’s shoulder as they paused in a copse of trees just outside the ring of watchmen, Maedhros watching a few paces away. His red hair flamed about his stony face and he contemplated them, silent.

“Elrond, Elros.” Maglor paused and knelt before them, as if they weren’t of full height already, as if they were only children. Elrond hadn’t felt like a child in years, but watching Maglor’s face flickering between the distant firelight and the dappled moonlight made him want to be one— small enough to be bundled up and carried away from here, away from whatever inevitable thing was going to happen once they stepped foot in that camp.

Maglor rested his hands on the back of their necks, drawing them in. “Listen to me. It is time I did something that I should have done a long time ago.” His voice hushed low between them. “When we step into that camp you will be free of us, as you should have been long ago. You know what binds us, and I do not want you drawn into the tangle of our lives further— should the world survive this catastrophe, I hope that you would live in peace, and I fear the sons of Fëanor shall never know any such thing again.”

“But—” Elros started, but Maglor held up a hand to hush him.

“I do not know what will happen, but it is not likely to end well for two such as we. I would spare you.” He paused, face softening. “I love you two dearly, even though I have no right to. And for that love I would release you.”

Elrond felt Elros shiver next to him, reaching for his hand and squeezing it hard enough to bruise. _Release._ Why did freedom feel like suffocating?

“My lord,” One of their band, a grim elf named Erestor, stepped forward. “I would stay with them.”

“You gladden my heart, Erestor, and I release you from my service into theirs. Watch over them.” Maglor stood, hands still fast on their shoulders. Elrond quivered under that touch, afraid that if Maglor let go his whole body would unmoor from the earth, would shake away like dead leaves into the dark.

Erestor came to stand next to them them, bowing lightly. “My lords,” he said, green eyes flashing.

“Now, Elrond, Elros— farewell.” Maglor kissed them on the brow, lingering in sadness. “If we are able we will come to you--and even if we are not--we will watch over you from afar. But if we are to never meet again then know this— you were an unexpected and joyous light in dark days, an undeserved blessing. I love you dearly.” When he drew away Elrond felt something inside himself snap, waving away like a cut sail. Elros’ throat jerked, gulping down a whimper.

Maedhros stepped in after him. “Ai, children of ill-fortune to fall under such tragedy,” he muttered to himself, brushing back Elrond’s hair. “Here,” he pressed a kiss to both their foreheads, echoing Maglor’s goodbye. “You have my blessing and that of my house, if that means anything anymore. Be well, my little kestrels.” Then he turned and stalked away into the circle of the camp, leading Maglor and the rest of their house behind him.

Only Erestor stayed, still at their side. “Do you wish to wait for a little while, my lords, or do you wish to go forward?” He asked.

“I need a moment, thank you,” Elros snapped, trembling. He crouched down on the pine-strewn ground, breathing fast, knees tucked up to his chest and arms folded behind his head. Elrond bent beside him, mind wheeling— _what were they going to do—_ tears breaking down his face, faster now—

“Just, give me a minute,” Elros mumbled from underneath his arms, taking big gulps of air. “I’ll be fine, just a minute—”

Erestor nodded and unpinned his cloak, spreading it over the two of them. “Take as much time as you need, I will not leave you.”

“Who goes there?” A voice rang out over the trees, the sound of stamping horses rumbling close.

“None of your _fucking_ business!” Elros snarled, voice breaking.

“I should say it’s my business,” an amused voice replied. “Most things are.” A tall, golden-haired elf trotted up on a massive charger, ringed by armed elves holding torches and banners. A silver crown circled his forehead, glinting in the torchlight.

Erestor stood between them and the tall elf, blade drawn. “You will not harm them, nor hinder their way,” he growled.

The tall elf quirked an eyebrow down at Erestor. “I don’t intend to, though I should like to know who it is that trespasses in my domain.”

Elrond stood, pressing Erestor’s blade down. Elros glowered up behind him, cleaving tight to his side. “So you’re the king?” Elrond asked, stepping in front of Erestor. Now that he was closer, he could see that the tall elf was young, perhaps only a hundred or so years older than Elrond himself.

“One of them, anyway. We seem to have quite a few nowadays.” He shrugged. Elrond noted that, despite the king’s cavalier attitude, every eye in the glade followed him, drawn tight.

“You stand before His Majesty King Gil-galad, High King of the Ñoldor.” Another of the mounted elves introduced him, breaking the silent host for the first time.

Erestor bowed, but did not sheath his sword.

“Peace, Erestor,” Elrond hissed, pushing the blade down further. Erestor hesitated, then tucked it away. “Your Grace,” Elrond continued, ignoring Elros bristling at his side. “I am Elrond, son of Eärendil, and this is my twin, Elros. Erestor is our…” he searched for a word. “Guardian. Please forgive his zeal. We were recently released from Maglor’s custody and are simply passing through.”

Gil-galad’s eyes widened, and he dismounted before them. “Elrond and Elros, truly?” He tipped his hand up under Elrond’s chin, turning his face to better see him in the weak light. Elrond, pinned by that gaze, stilled. Gil-galad’s hand softened, brushing his skin to cup his cheek. “We thought you lost, little kinsman. Come, we will speak of such things later. I welcome you into my house. Orophin, horses for the two lords and their guardian.”

Two horses were brought forward, and Erestor helped them swing up onto one before mounting the other. The other warrior elves stayed a respectful distance away, but even so Erestor kept watch, fingers playing around the hilt of his sword.

“With me, young lords,” Gil-galad called, and together they rode down through the camp.

Elrond tried to keep up as best he could, campfires and banners blurring by like strange ghosts. Behind him Elros clutched at his waist, hackles still high.

“Hush, you,” Elrond whispered, rubbing his free hand against Elros’ arm. “We’ll be safe with him.”

“The moment we aren’t, we’re grabbing Erestor and leaving, got it?” Elros muttered back and Elrond nodded, acquiescing.

Gil-galad brought them into his tent, a huge, many-roomed behemoth in the center of the Ñoldor camp. Inside a huge table cluttered with maps and miniature soldiers took up most of the main room, surrounded by tapestries and rugs and lit by huge grated braziers. Elrond could see another room in the back with a bed, along with others housing armor and supplies.

“Here, beds will be made for you and a bath sent for.” Gil-galad motioned to a small alcove tucked to the side, curtained away from the main rooms. “Until then, please, eat. I will return, but don’t wait up for me. You must be tired.” He ducked back out of the tent, followed by his councilors. Others stayed behind, preparing the room. The maps were cleared away and replaced with cold cuts of meat and cheese, along with fruit and sweet, clear water. Elros huddled close to Erestor, cautious, but scarfed down a whole platter of bread and cheese while Elrond’s back was turned. Erestor, now that they were in the camp, stayed no more than three feet away from the two of them, quiet and watchful. When they lived with Maglor and Maedhros, Erestor had been one of their tutors, stern and exacting. But he soon warmed to the twins, praising them effusively and often. Elrond didn’t know his affection ran so deep, but he was glad Erestor stayed with them— in this maelstrom of confusion and fear he remained a solid, loyal presence.

After the bath was drawn in a large copper tub the other elves left, receding to a buzz outside the heavy tapestry walls of the tent. Elrond and Elros shared the bath, Erestor washing their hair and braiding it back for sleep before quickly washing himself. Elros calmed under Erestor’s hands and Elrond too found himself comforted.

“Thank you, Erestor.” He said as they curled up to sleep.

“Think nothing of it, my lord.” He replied softly, and settled down between them and the wall of the tent.

Elros fell asleep almost immediately and Erestor followed soon after, but Elrond couldn’t settle down.

Had it only been fifteen years that he and Elros walked this earth? He felt ancient and battered, like the great boulders on the beach. Ground down to dust and sand. He wanted Maglor and Maedhros, wanted to rest back in the familiarity of their complicated love. He hoped, like Maglor, that they would see each other again, but felt deep in his heart that some essential tie had been broken. He knew who and what they were— _killers_ in a way that other warriors weren’t— but he loved them. He _loved_ them. Maglor’s words of freedom cut him like little knives. Elros, he knew, ached for them, and was quick to linger near Erestor in his loneliness. Elrond didn’t know what they were going to do without the two brothers, without their guidance. Erestor would watch over them whatever choice they made, but the choice itself he would not make.

The weight of their missing parents scraped at the back of Elrond’s skull. He wondered once more if they were dead and Maglor didn’t want to tell them. Perhaps Maglor or Maedhros killed them with their own hands, who knew. Whenever Elrond held both his parents and the Fëanorian brothers in his mind at once he couldn’t help crying, so he put the brothers away.

He felt too hot, his throat thick. He groaned and threw off the quilt covering him, padding out to the main room to find water. When he pulled back the curtain he stopped, startled.

Gil-galad sat alone at the table, pouring over a map by the low light of a smoldering brazier. At Elrond’s entrance he looked up. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Elrond shook his head, frozen on the threshold. “I was already awake. I… I’m having some trouble falling asleep.”

Gil-galad gave a wry smile. “That makes two of us. Come, you may sit with me, if you like.” He took a pitcher from his side and poured Elrond a cup of water.

Elrond came and took the offered cup, sitting down tentatively next to him. The water soothed the heat behind his eyes, and his shoulders lost some of their tension. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Plans. We march soon. Here, up the length of the Pass of Sirion to Anfauglith, where we shall hopefully drive Morgoth’s forces back to Angband.” Gil-galad leaned over to show him, tracing the map with his finger.

Elrond grimaced, taking another sip of water and looking away.

“Ai, forgive me, talk of war will not help you sleep.” Gil-galad rolled up the map and set it aside. “Come now, kinsman, let us find something else to pass the hours until sleep comes for us. Of what would you have me speak?”

Elrond mused for a moment, then turned to the young king. “How old are you?” He asked.

“Ninety-seven. I’m not even of age, can you believe?” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

Elrond gawked. “How old were you when you became king?”

“Sixty. After Turgon died in the Fall of Gondolin the kingship passed to me, since Fingolfin wasn’t available to take it. He’s here now though, so I suppose he gets it until he returns to Aman. I defer to him at any rate.” Gil-galad ran a thoughtful finger along the rim of his crown. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” he replied.

“ _Eru above,_ ” Gil-galad swore under his breath, looking at Elrond with new eyes. “Fifteen? Truly?”

Elrond nodded, blushing.

Gil-galad slipped his crown off his head and rubbed at his temples. The circlet had left a little dent in his hair, and he looked weary and disheveled. “This war is going to be fought by _children,_ ” he muttered, giving a sardonic smile to Elrond. “What a pair we make. Add your years to mine and we’ll have safely passed out of adolescence. Ai, but here I am, rudely speaking of war again. Forgive me, it has been much on my mind as of late.”

“Will we march with you, then?” Elrond said, troubled.

“If you wish. You will always have a place in my house, whether you choose to fight or no. At any rate, I’ve sent word to your parents, so it will be your choi—”

“My _parents!?_ ” Elrond bolted up, cup slipping from his shaking hands to spill across his shift and the floor, _his parents—_ he shook like a sapling in a gale, if he wasn’t careful he’d crack in half—

Gil-galad reached out to steady him, puzzled. “Yes? Your parents? Elrond, are you alright?”

His knees gave out under him and he slumped to the floor. “They’re alive?” Elrond clutched at the fringes of Gil-galad’s robe, frantic. “They’re _alive?_ ” _Emig, Ada—they lived_ —

“Yes, they’re alive, did Maglor not tell you?” Gil-galad knelt next to him, hands solid on his shoulders. “They’re alive, they came over the sea with Eönwë, Elrond, did _no one_ tell you?”

Elrond _wailed,_ flinging his arms around Gil-galad, sobbing into his shoulders. Gil-galad held him, shushing him, running soft hands over Elrond’s back. Elrond couldn’t feel his legs, couldn’t feel anything but too many years’ worth of aching, gnawing dread splintering away under Gil-galad’s palms.

“Hush now, hush. You will see them soon,” Gil-galad murmured.

“Ngh—Elros, I—” Elrond scrambled up, stumbling to the alcove. “ _Elros!”_

Erestor shot up, alert, while Elros rolled over, bleary-eyed. “What?” He slurred.

“Mom and Dad are _alive!_ The King sent word to them that _we’re here!_ ” Elrond hurled himself at his brother, lost in a tangle of limbs.

“What do you _mean?_ Alive?” Elros grabbed Elrond and threw him down on the bed.

Elrond laughed, hysterical, clinging to his brother.

“He means, Elros,” Gil-galad said from the entryway. “That I have sent word to you parents, who arrived here with Eönwë. They are alive and well, and have been searching for you.”

Elros bit down on the heel of his hand, unable to hold back an abrupt, choking sob. Elrond reached up and the two brothers fell together, crying.

Gil-galad turned to Erestor. “Tell me, Erestor, did you not know, or did you and your lords choose not to tell them?” his calm face flickered with anger.

Erestor gaped at the brothers. “In truth, your grace, I did not know. The last I heard Eärendil was lost and Elwing threw herself into the sea. I do not think even Maglor knew, though it is possible Maedhros suspected— I fear we have become very isolated these past few years and have not communicated with many outside our house. You speak truly in one respect; neither they nor I spoke of it. I am sorry for that now.”

Gil-galad nodded, satisfied. “Get them to sleep if you can. I’ll have tea sent to soothe them.”

He brought tea in himself about a half hour later, only to find Elros already dreaming on Elrond’s chest, Erestor sleeping next to them, mattress shoved close to theirs. Once more Elrond was the only one awake, carding his hand softly through Elros’ hair.

Gil-galad set the tea down on a low table next to the bed, brushing a brief hand over Elrond’s head.

Elrond grasped his hand. _Thank you,_ he mouthed.

Gil-galad squeezed back. _You’re welcome, Elrond._

The next morning Elwing _flew_ into the tent, great white wings scattering maps and guards alike. Elrond and Elros found themselves surrounded by feathers and _warmth,_ her familiar scent, like salt and lilies, filling the air as she kissed them. Elrond, eyes already red from last night, spilled new tears down the front of her dress.

“Mom—” Elros sobbed. “Mom, you got _wings—_ ”

“I did!” She laughed. “A gift from Ulmo. Ai, my _sons,_ my beloved sons— how you’ve grown!” She pulled back to regard them, eyes flickering. “We didn’t know where you’d gone, we didn’t know— What happened to you, my loves? After?”

Elros turned away, face red with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance. “Maglor and Maedhros took us in. They took care of us really well.”

She stiffened. “Maglor and Maedhros took you in,” she repeated, cold. Suddenly Elrond didn’t like the look of her face, distrust undercutting his relief.

“Mom,” Elrond began, hesitating. “They— they love us. They took care of us. They might not be good people but they love us. And— and _we_ love _them._ Erestor too.”

Elwing’s gaze grew hard and sharp. She turned to Erestor, who was standing still as a stone in the corner. She narrowed her eyes. “I remember you.”

He nodded his head, eyes downcast. “Yes, my lady.”

“And you took care of them? You will _take care_ of them?” she snarled, her wings wrapping tighter around her sons.

Elros tugged at her. “Mom, don’t hurt him—”

Erestor looked up, gaze steady. “I will throw myself on my sword for them, if you so ask.”

She stared at him, long and unbroken. “You may stay,” she said, finally, teeth tight. Erestor bowed in return.

Gil-galad paused at the entrance of the wreckage that was now his tent. “My lady, I’m glad you’ve arrived. When will your husband be here? I should like to prepare for the inevitable hurricane.”

Elrond turned to Gil-galad, beaming through his puffy eyes. “My lord!” he called, and Gil-galad stepped over the scattered maps to them. Elrond watched him, face flushing. Gil-galad seemed like a hero, already a great and noble High King for almost four times as long as Elrond had been alive, but he treated them like little brothers. It made Elrond feel important and special.

Gil-galad nodded to him, smiling sweet and small, before turning to Elwing. “My lady, I am at your service. You and your family are welcome in my house for as long as you desire to stay.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She replied, taking one son under each arm and wing. “As it stands, we might have need of your hospitality for awhile longer. My husband and I have no home to speak of, save for Vingilótë, and that is now a war machine more than anything else.”

“Dad still has the boat?” Elros interrupted, pulling on her dress.

“Yes, darling,” Chuckling, she kissed his head with a little _smack_. “Dad still has the boat, though it might be a little different than you last remember. My lord,” She turned to Gil-galad. “May I impose on your graciousness and ask you to house them?”

“Of course. They will remain in my household, as close to my side as I can allow, given the circumstances. Your husband— ah, speaking of, here he is.” Gil-galad stepped back just in time to make way for Eärendil, who sprinted straight into the tent and leapt into the cluster of his family.

“ _Kids!”_ Eärendil shouted, nearly bowling them over as he swung them both up to his chest. “My _sons!”_

“Dad!” Elrond buried himself in his dad’s strong arms, tanned and rough from the sea.

“My beautiful boys,” Eärendil croaked, already rough from crying. “I missed you so much—”

 _Together. Finally._ Elrond heard Elros sniffle, rubbing his nose on Eärendil’s canvas shirt. Elrond nuzzled deeper, breathing in the murky smell of seaweed and the new dusty smell of Elwing’s great white wings drawing around them. She and Eärendil hugged them close, completing the circle around them. Everything was going to be all right, Elrond kept telling himself. They were going to keep Erestor and they would find a way to get Maglor and Maedhros back and everyone would understand. His parents were here and nothing was going to go wrong ever again.

 

~*~

 

Elrond winced. He wanted to take his younger self aside and hold him for a very long time.

Their bright, beautiful parents. Too much for Middle Earth to hold. In truth, too much for even Aman to hold— and if Aman could not hold them, then what could two children do?

After that first day Elrond and Elros saw them again maybe half a dozen times, only for a few weeks each. They were _heroes_ before they were _parents_ , the world “needed” them more than their children did.

It was the first time Elrond realized that you could lose someone to something other than death.

It seemed the war turned everything on its head— their parents returned to their lives only to leave, and Maglor and Maedhros—praise be to everything holy— left their lives only to return. The Fëanorian brothers were barely tolerated at best in the Ñoldor camp, but each night they were able they crept under Ereinion’s tent walls like mice made sure he and Elros were safe. In the warm darkness of the tent they would talk softly to them, kiss them, and tuck them in like children even as they grew into full adulthood. Since Elrond and Elros were no longer in the brother’s custody, an easier, softer love grew up between them. Elrond could see the fierce desperation in their faces— expressed as sorrow in Maglor and despair in Maedhros— and knew. They only had so much time left. He held them close while he could. _Atyafilit. Atyafion._ Sparrow-father, Hawk-father.

The first night as the five (Erestor too) of them lay sobbing together, Elros punching Maedhros’ chest hard— _I thought you left us for good you idiot you—_ Elrond caught Ereinion glancing into their little room. Ereinion caught Elrond’s eye and, very carefully, not wanting to disturb them, pulled the dividing curtain further closed. As High King it was the closest thing he could give to permission, though Elrond thought that perhaps it was something closer to blessing. Elrond didn’t understand then, didn’t know what was to come— he knew he would lose Maedhros and Maglor, but some childish thing in him looked for Eärendil and Elwing’s return. He thought now that perhaps Ereinion saw a little more clearly into the matter and recognized Maglor and Maedhros for what they were— adoptive parents as true as any blood relation, perhaps truer.

It was only after the war, when Eönwë whisked Eärendil and Elwing away in a flurry of feathers and golden commands to guard the sky, that Elrond understood. They left the twins behind, with only the gift of the Choice as their inheritance.

Elrond and Elros, three days out from their fifty-fifth birthday and once more parentless. Elrond thought that perhaps Eönwë believed the gift was only nominal, that neither of them would ever choose mankind over their elven heritage. That he could take their parents for as long as he wished, as if he were only borrowing them for a time. As if you could borrow a parent. As if that goodbye on the shore were not, for one of them, permanent.

Elrond saw Eärendil and Elwing every night, sailing across the sky, touching down only for a few hours during the purple times between day and night. He visited them when he could, but more often than not they seemed more like starlit gods to him than flesh-and-blood. Without Elros at his side he felt lonely around them. It seemed even their kinship was lost to him now, or, if not lost, then too far away to touch.

He sighed, a deep river of melancholy winding its way through his chest. The lavender husks shuddered around him.

 

~*~

 

He and Elros returned to Gil-galad’s tent, still standing tall if haggard in the center of the camp. Surrounded now by a fraction of the host Gil-galad commanded forty years ago, it presided over what had become a sort of delirious madness. Most of the elves were leaving, following Eönwë’s stern suggestion to sail to Aman, and in the face of what Beleriand had become, who could neglect the call? The air filled with the clang of armor hammered out into anchor cleats, the tear of tents stitched into sails.

Elrond’s boots sunk in the wet sand as they walked toward high ground. If he looked to the horizon he would see a vast stretch of low, sandy tide pools filled with bones. In the distance great plumes of steam rose as waves trickled into the great fissures in the earth, quieting their flames. The last remnant of a great continent. Angband devastated, yes, Thangorodrim destroyed, but Doriath, Nargothrond— all gone. In the far distance gulls and carrion birds wheeled around the last mountain of Beleriand— the rotting corpse of Ancalagon the Black, bleached spine jerking over the landscape.

Instead of watching the birds he kept his eyes on his shoes, watching for errant spear-tips and arrows hidden in the sand. Rot and sulfur stung his nose and eyes, cloying the back of his throat. Soon the sea would creep up the sand and swallow what was left of this land. Soon the bodies of orcs and elves and men and dwarves and the charcoal remnants of balrogs would drift under the water, where Ulmo would turn them into gardens of seaweed. Elrond wanted to think that— that even this place could eventually be beautiful and untouchable. Thinking about deep, peaceful water helped him, anyway. Helped him not think about the things he was not thinking about.

Their parents were gone. All _four_ of their parents were gone.

Elros, a haunted look lingering under his eyes, turned to their room and collapsed on their bed, not even bothering to take off his boots. Elrond paused, regarding his brother. Elros had the right idea of it—the comforting blackness of sleep, if he could manage to slip past the nightmares. He turned away, letting the familiarity of the tent lull him back into something resembling calm. The warm red woven rugs, the startling blue banner of Gil-galad’s house. Faint wisps of incense from the braziers, Gil-galad’s one true luxury. Crinkling maps, the worn wood of the table smooth from a thousand hands. Candles. The feeling of an enclosed space. Elrond took a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs.

Eönwë’s Choice rang in his pointed elven ears. He added that to the list of things he wasn’t thinking about.

In the corner, Gil-galad sagged in what Elrond had come to know as his usual chair by the brazier. Elrond left his sleeping twin to join him. The rest of his councilors had gone back to their own tents and houses, and the room settled into a muffled silence.

Gil-galad held the now mithril crown in his hands, tracing along the twisting stars with his thumbs. Elrond sat in what had become his own usual chair next to him, watching his hands.

“Well Elrond, we survived,” Gil-galad sighed, his lip curled in bitterness. Hooking the crown on the arm of his chair, he crossed his feet near the brazier, warming his worn boots. Elrond thought that war, rather than bending the young king, only sharpened him, bringing out the fine creases around his mouth and the steel set of his shoulders. He wondered what Gil-galad would look like in peace, if he would yield to it and bloom into an entirely new creature.

Elrond leaned over his knees and stared at the brazier, white flame cracking open charred branches. Silver smoke twisted up, catching in the tapestries. He didn’t want to think about Maedhros. He didn’t want to think about Maglor. He didn’t want to think about the simarils, those searing-bright jewels, and of all the people taken away from him by those fell burning things.

“Tell me Elrond,” Gil-galad’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “What will you do now? Will you and Elros sail with the others?”

“Will you?” Elrond returned, sagging back in his chair. _Sail._

“No,” Gil-galad replied, his lips quirking in a subtle twist. “I am yet king, and have much to do.” He fingered the crown at his side, but did not place it back on his brow. “There are yet wounds in this land. There are yet people who need me.” This he said softer, his voice mingling with the snapping fire. Elrond stirred, hooked on his words. All at once this, sitting by the fire with Gil-galad, seemed as ephemeral as smoke, merely a passing thought in the running tide of Gil-galad’s rule. He frowned, throat thick with dread. No. He had lost more than he could bear already.

“My lord.” Elrond brushed his hand over his breastbone, pressing down on a sudden, certain tightness. “I want to swear fealty to you.”

“You _what.”_ Gil-galad startled. Elrond smiled, fear crumbling; it wasn’t often that anyone could surprise the king.

“I want to swear to you,” he stated again. In his chest, a small, tattered thing found her nest and settled down deep, deep enough to be permanent.

Gil-galad turned in his chair to face Elrond, eyes narrowed. “You realize you don’t _have_ to swear to me. You are a lord in your own right, I have no hold over you.”

Elrond met his eyes, undeterred. “I want to, my lord. My King.” Slowly, very slowly, he slipped from his chair to kneel before Gil-galad. His heart beat slow, sure, but underneath a thread of tension snapped tight across his neck. He swallowed.

A high, wild look lit behind Gil-galad’s eyes. His throat worked, words forming and dying in the long silence. “Elrond,” he said, finally. “No.”

Elrond flinched.

“Hush,” Gil-galad leaned forward, his hand turning Elrond’s face back to him. “I only mean that I— Elrond, I have seen what oaths have done to those you love.”

Elrond closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of the rug underneath him, of his hands flat on his thighs. He did not think about Maedhros. He did not think about Maglor.

“Elrond, look at me.” He gave Elrond’s head a little shake, and Elrond looked back up. Gil-galad’s brow creased with concern. “I do not want to hold you so,” he continued. “The world is begun anew, and you would bind yourself to me?”

“You will not hurt me, my King.” Elrond laid his hand against his heart, ready.

“Ai, Elrond,” Gil-galad pulled the hand away. “Let us compromise. Give me a gift as a sign of your loyalty, not an oath. Does that satisfy you?”

Elrond sank back on his heels. The words he wanted to say lay sparking on his tongue. “And what gift shall I give my King?” He said instead.

“I leave that up to your expansive imagination. I have no doubt you will find something to delight me.” Gil-galad leaned back in his chair, tension slacking between them. “Come now, sit with me. I desire friendship and companionship before we begin the long work ahead of us.”

Elrond acquiesced, pulling himself back up into his chair. Gil-galad poured them glasses of mulled wine, and together they talked into the night.

When Elrond finally tucked himself in to sleep next to his restless brother, he knew what he was going to do.

 

The next day Elrond went very early into the forge, taking with him a small lump of raw mithril. He’d bought it some time ago for what had amounted to most of his savings at the time and had carried it with him ever since, waiting to find a purpose for it. During the war Gil-galad had kept them out of the fighting for as long as he could, and in the meantime Elrond and Elros devoted their time to the forge, mending and re-supplying the armory. Now, it seemed, the time had come to turn his war skills into something else.

Mithril curved under his hands, slick with an inner fire. The low burn in his arms from working the forge felt good, his skin hot in the cold of the early morning. The huff of the bellows, groaning awake after a night asleep, blew sparks and ash over his face and into his loose braid. His breath misted white with the steam, and for the first time in a long time he felt cool and sure, all his bones aligned and in the right places. It felt good to know what his heart wanted.

At the same time, he intended to make something of a statement to Gil-galad. He fashioned an ear cuff about the width of his fingernail, stamped with the braided light of the six-pointed simaril of his own house. Along the edge of the seal ran a thin slit with a little fastening latch designed to close shut into a perfect circle once it pierced through an ear. The latch, once activated, wouldn’t open again. It wasn’t particularly elegant, but it was _permanent,_ at least as permanent as he could make it. He finished just as the sun sliced a thin red line in the horizon. Tucking it away, he hurried back to the tent

“My King,” Elrond slipped in to find Gil-galad already awake, talking with Erestor. He noticed the smallest flicker work its way over Gil-galad’s shoulders at the title, and he reached in his pocket to feel the warm mithril against his fingertips. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course. Erestor, we will continue this conversation again soon.” Gil-galad replied, Erestor turning away to duck outside. “What it is?”

“I have your gift.” A playful smile tugged at Elrond’s mouth.

“Do you now?” Gil-galad quirked an eyebrow at him. “That was quick.”

Elrond let the smile grow. “We’re going to need a knife.”

“A knife.” Gil-galad frowned.

Elrond stepped forward, the cuff in his hand. “I expect you’ll wear it?”

Gil-galad stared down at the cuff. “I suppose I have to, haven’t I?” he grimaced. “Here, might as well get it over with.” He unsheathed a small knife from his belt and handed it hilt-first to Elrond.

Elrond took it. “Do you have a preference?”

“Right,” Gil-galad replied. _Right-hand._

Elrond’s smirk widened into a full-blow grin, tongue between his teeth. “Just think of this as an object lesson.”

“In what?” Gil-galad groused, settling down in his chair with a huff.

“In what happens when you don’t let me do as I please.” Elrond tucked back straw-blonde hair from the tip of a long ear, marking his place with his thumbnail.

“I am _quite_ sure that’s not what swearing fealty is about,” Gil-galad grumbled, his hands tightening on the chair’s arms. His tone was light, but in the firelight it had the sound of ritual.

“Hush, this is going to hurt.” Briefly Elrond placed the tip of the knife in the brazier’s flames, then with a quick twist he cut through the delicate edge of Gil-galad’s ear.

Gil-galad hissed, tensing, but didn’t flinch. Elrond looped the cuff through, closing it fast.

“There,” he said, wiping away the blood with a clean cloth soaked in a little mulled wine. “It’s done.”

Gil-galad relaxed, hands releasing. “It’s done,” he echoed.

“My Lord and King,” Elrond whispered, running a thumb over the stamped seal. The cuff danced in the firelight, still red with blood. For a sign of his fealty to the King, it looked more a sign of possession. His seal in Gil-galad’s skin. It felt like security, like certainty. Like gaining, not losing. “Here, I will leave you to prepare for the day,” Elrond pulled away to leave, a flush overwhelming him, but Gil-galad caught his hand.

“Elrond.”

He paused, turning back. A rare look lit Gil-galad’s face, yielding and tender. His fingers ran careful at his ear.

“Elrond,” he began again. “When we are in private, you will call me Ereinion.”

 _Ereinion._ His epësse, his chosen name. “As you wish, Ereinion.” Elrond bowed, smiling, and walked out of the tent.

 

~*~

 

“Dad?”

Elrond cracked an eye open to see his eldest son standing over him, blocking the sunlight above him and scattering the dark mist of his thoughts. “Hello my kestrel, what brings you here?” Elrond beamed, delighted.

“I was just passing through,” Elrohir replied. “What are you doing out in the grass?”

“What all elves do in the grass, love. Roll around and smell the flowers and think. Here, join me.” Elrond patted a patch of soft heather next to him.

Elrohir, so often the stoic one among them, flopped down and curled up next to him. “What were you thinking about?” He asked, tucking his hands up under his cheek.

Elrond rolled to face him, plucking a few errant buds out of his son’s hair. By the Valar, why had no one told him being a parent was this good? Just the sight of his son lying in the grass was enough to sustain him his whole life long.

“I was thinking about my childhood,” he replied. “When the War of Wrath ended and I entered Gil-galad’s house.”

“I forget sometimes that you’re so _old_ ,” Elrohir teased. “But those are dark times for such a day as this. Why were you thinking of them?”

“I was thinking back on my friendship with Gil-galad. We met just at the beginning of the war, and I entered his household just after.” Elrond tugged at the little strands of grass between them, rubbing their sharp scent between his fingers.

Elrohir paused, regarding him. “You looked sad when I walked up to you. Is everything all right?”

Ah, striking for the center—his clever eldest had inherited the lion’s share of Elrond’s tactical intuition. “Hopefully,” Elrond smiled, trying to look reassuring. “I am working through a particularly snarly question.”

“In your memories?” Elrohir prodded further.

Elrond gave him a sidelong glance. “Yes, in my memories, you curious little mole. Snuffling around your father’s business.”

Elrohir rolled his eyes. “And that tone means you won’t be telling me anything further. But tell me true, you’re ok? Mom’s ok?” Something lost and afraid flickered across his face. For all his immovable strength, Elrohir had been the one to lead his brother out into the wilderness to slaughter orcs after Celebrían sailed. It took a long time for him to work through his lingering guilt, but in its place grew a fierce, aching protectiveness over his parents and siblings.

Elrond reached out, brushing a thumb under his son’s grey eyes. “Yes, little kestrel. We’re ok. You needn’t worry about us. The snarly question will work itself out in time, don’t worry. Are you going to stay the night? And is your brother with you?”

Elrohir relaxed. “We’ll stay the night. Elladan’s somewhere out in the woods being restless, but I think he’ll probably show up for dinner. Definitely for dessert.”

“Definitely,” Elrond chuckled. “Well come now, let’s go and see if your mother’s awake yet— we’ll need to get that dessert started if we’re to lure your brother in from his thoughts.” He hauled himself up from the flowers, reaching down to pull Elrohir up to his feet. Together they walked back to the house, the light from the low sun painting streaks of gold through the trees behind them.

“Prepare yourself, my love, our children have come eat us out of house and home,” Elrond called, swinging the door open to step inside.

“Have they now?” Celebrían appeared from the sunroom, her hair a sleepy mess. “Hello my dear,” she said to Elrohir, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “It has been a few weeks since we last saw you—we were getting fat without you to trim our pantry. Where’s your brother?”

Elrohir kissed her cheek. “Out thinking. He’ll be here for dessert.”

“Good. Ereinion dropped off some salt caramel a few weeks ago, I’ll have to see if we have some left. Come, son of mine, help me with the food.” She pushed a tender hand on his back, steering him away from Elrond and to the kitchen.

Elrond trailed along behind, feeling sentimental. His children. After the horror that was most of his childhood, he sort of stumbled into parenthood— desperate to give his kids everything he and Elros never had. There were more than a few nights he had sat up with Erestor, tearing at his hair in panic, convinced he was going to twist them up just from holding them. He didn’t trust himself, didn’t trust all the wounds he still felt from long ago.

“Elrond.” Erestor had sighed. “Just love them. You are _good_ at loving. Just love them, and everything will come after. And if it doesn’t, then Celebrían and Glorfindel and I will be here to help you. Come to us.”

And, in a way, everything _had_ come after.

First the three, Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen; then the sudden, unexpected last child, Estel. There were only two left to him now, one of which he suspected was a close thing indeed. Thank the Valar for small mercies.

Elrond leaned against the threshold to the kitchen, watching his wife and son break eggs and separate out the yolks, holding the limp globes in their slick hands. Celebrían had placed a line of colored glass bottles, a gift from Ereinion, along the ledge of the windowsill and they splashed bursts of color over the yolks in kaleidoscopic slivers. Elrohir and Celebrían chatted, catching up on news from across Aman, and their voices filled the room like sparrows in the hedgerow.

His family. What a patchwork thing it was. The empty bedroom upstairs— strung with little hanging crystals and white tree branches—haunted him. But Elladan’s room was comfortingly messy, and Elrohir was in dire need of more bookshelves. At night he could hear them creaking about the halls and he slept better for it. Briefly, he thought to the overlarge shed he was working on near the cliff face, two bedrooms haphazardly taking shape inside. Over the lintel he carved a braid of vines, and little sparrows and hawks nested within it. He had his hopes.

And then there was the “guest” room covered in seashells. Erestor and Glorfindel, when they visited, never outright refused to sleep in it, but instead always managed to sneak out to the sunroom and cuddle on the couch for the night. Elrond pressed Erestor once on it, but he simply replied that Glorfindel liked to sleep nearest to the stars and growing things if he could, and the many herbs and flowers potted in the sunroom kept him happy. Elrond knew a half-lie when he saw one, but didn’t say anything further. He knew as well as anyone else that there was only one “guest” to whom the seashell room belonged.

Last night’s words came back to him. _Does he think we don’t love him?_ Surely Ereinion knew. Surely he understood— even when it felt like time carved his family away from him bit by bit he still had Ereinion.

 

~*~

 

The fire was running low and Elrond was flirting with the idea of getting very, very drunk. It had been a year since Elros died and Elrond had made it through a whole day of council meetings and administrative tasks without crying, but now it was just him and the fire and the great dark corners of the room and it would be preferable, really, if he weren’t awake right now.

A knock sounded at the door just as he uncorked a bottle of very cheap, very strong liquor and he sighed, rubbing his eyes with both fists. “Come in,” he called.

Ereinion ducked his head inside. “Elrond? Ah.” He looked from Elrond to the bottle on the sideboard. “I see we won’t be needing this,” He held up his own bottle.

“You never know,” Elrond shrugged, turning away. “I don’t intend to say no to anything alcoholic tonight.” A headache built behind his eyes. Drinking was going to hurt, but with any luck it would hurt for a shorter amount of time than not drinking.

Ereinion closed the door behind him and stepped over to place his own bottle next to Elrond’s. “I am sorry, Elrond, that you had to go through today without space for yourself,” He said, reaching out a gentle hand to Elrond’s back, steadying him. “I should have given you time, forgive me.”

Elrond slumped a little into the touch. “It couldn’t be helped. Celebrimbor isn’t one to wait, and besides, the pitying looks I would have gotten tomorrow would bother me more. And I—” His hand crept up to his throat, grown thick with sorrow. “I want to keep him to myself, a little. My memories of him. I don’t want others to see.”

“I’ll leave you, if you wish.” Ereinion’s thumb brushed small ovals in his back.

“No, it’s ok, you can stay,” Elrond replied, pain creeping back up into his voice and face. “As long as you don’t mind watching a miserable elf blubbering all over the carpet.” He tried to laugh, tried to _make_ himself laugh, and failed.

“Elrond, come _here_.” Ereinion drew him away from the liquor and to his chest. Elrond pressed his forehead to the steady, breathing warmth, and drew a deep sign into his lungs. _Elros._ Sniffing, he wiped a few tears away on Ereinion’s tunic.

He felt more than heard Ereinion chuckle. “This is a _new_ tunic _,_ Elrond.”

“You have at least _five_ people to do your laundry, Ereinion,” he retorted, pulling back to rub his nose. The tears helped siphon off some of his heartsickness, but the pounding behind his eyes had gotten worse.

“True. Do you want this?” Ereinion tapped the bottle.

Elrond frowned, reconsidering. “Perhaps not. I have something of a headache now and I don’t think that will help more than it will hurt.”

Ereinion poured him some water instead. “Here, drink this.” He handed it to Elrond.

Elrond took it with both hands, feeling brittle, remembering back to a far time where Ereinion had first given a fragile elf a drink of cool water. Ereinion helped, he _always_ helped— his presence a small reminder that Elrond wasn’t alone. Elrond sipped the water, silent.

Ereinion took his cue for silence and went about the small sitting room like it was his own, picking up a blanket here, grabbing cushions there. His hands found Elrond’s shoulders, his side— pressing reassurances and manhandling him over to the fire and setting him down in a chair surrounded by blankets. He finally sat down opposite, his own glass of water held in his long fingers.

Over the fire hung a long Númenorian tapestry detailing Elros’ line thus far. Little portraits of his nephews and nieces branched out from Elros and Tar-Yávië, trickling down like streams over the heavy tapestry. Above Elros’ head a scattering of stars arched over him, a subtle nod to his love for Elrond, _star-dome._ Elros had sent the tapestry as a gift along with the letter saying, _Dearest Twin, you had better come quickly. I’m not long for this world._

Ereinion, of course, had let him go, and had been the first at the dock when he returned. Some days his constancy sometimes felt like the only thing holding Elrond down, keeping him here in this world.

Out of the corner of his eyes Elrond could see Ereinion watching him, concern writ large over his features. He nudged Elrond’s foot with his own. “I’ll sit with you as long as you like,” he said, setting his glass aside.

 _Please stay._ Elrond nodded, staring at the sparks falling against the grate. “Ereinion,” he said at last. “How long have we been friends?”

“I don’t know. I suppose it depends on when you mark the beginning,” Ereinion replied, pursing his lips in thought.

“I counted you as a friend the moment you told me my parents were alive.” Elrond took another sip and his headache cooled. It was true—that night turned his vision toward the young king and he hadn’t looked away since.

“Truly? That early?” Elrond caught Ereinion smiling over at him, twirling a meditative finger through his high blonde tail.

“Truly. What, did you feel no such thing for me for years?” Elrond’s lips curled, wry.

“No, I just did not expect you to have felt friendship for me as early as I did.” He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against his glass. “Erestor and I understood each other almost immediately— we were drawn to you. I never doubted his loyalty to you not because of him or his background, but because I had seen _you._ As soon as I met you in that glade I knew the two of you were… well, special. And _not_ —” he interjected, “because of your parents. I wanted to make your acquaintance further for your own sake, not theirs.”

Elrond laughed— a strange, bright sound leaping from his throat. “You flatter me, Ereinion. I was _fifteen,_ I couldn’t have been that impressive.”

“Even so,” Ereinion returned, smiling around the rim of his cup.

Elrond counted the years in his head. “What does that make it then? Nearly five hundred years? This makes you very nearly the longest-lived person in my life— only two others have surpassed you, and you will soon outstrip one of them. Ai,” his voice softened. “What an honor, Ereinion, to have you with me.”

When Elrond next looked to Ereinion his fingers were hovering around his ear, a hair’s breadth away from the gleaming mithril cuff. “The honor is all mine,” he said, looking away into the fire.

Elrond drained the last of his cup, suddenly bone-tired. He closed his eyes. “I think, dear friend, I’m going to see if I can sleep.”

“I’ll leave you then.” Ereinion stood, setting his cup aside. Elrond struggled up out of his chair, wrapping the blanket closer around him.

“Sleep well,” Ereinion said, and took Elrond’s face in his hands. The kiss was dry and cool against his hot forehead, and the last of the headache slipped away.

 

~*~

 

In his mind that kiss goes a thousand different ways. If Ereinion were more bold, or Elrond more desperate for warmth and closeness, then that mouth drifts downward, catching an answering moan against Elrond’s lips, hot and slick and enough to carry him back to his bed, or maybe they don’t get that far and settle for the nearest wall or floor. Or maybe it stays soft and sweet, if not as chaste, and Ereinion curls around him in sleep, protecting him from nightmares, and Elrond wakes to a new morning and a new future kissing down the back of his neck. It never ends in awkward, embarrassed silence; never stops with just that one kiss. _Had you but asked._ But no, Ereinion would never impose on Elrond’s grief, and Elrond didn’t even know that the possibility of something more even existed, much less for an elf of the old ways like Ereinion. Ai, he had been blind.

And what would have come then? Barad-dûr would have widowed him, rending his fëa in two, and Imladris would have been left to crumble away. What of Middle Earth?

Elrond watched his son beat the egg whites, white foam frothing up to catch pale glittering honey as his wife poured. Alternate timelines dissolved away. It was not worth thinking on the follies of the past, of imaging the what-ifs of that fragile world. There was only now, and even if the past could talk to the present the past couldn’t change itself.

He left his son and wife in the kitchen, turning away to the sunroom. In a small pot by the door a handful of athelas grew, weak but sure. Normally it only grew wild, but Elrond thought that this little bush pitied him, and so deigned to grow inside. He reached down and brushed the leaves, letting their bright, cleansing scent coat his fingers. It cleared his mind some, taking the edge off of his melancholy.

Snarly question indeed. And what question, exactly, was he asking? Even beyond questions he only had a vague idea of what he even _wanted—_ to see Ereinion happy, to see him loved— rather, for him to know how much he was _already_ loved. His adamant deference to Celebrían pricked at Elrond’s heart. It almost felt like rejection— Ereinion was _family,_ how could there be first or second-place loves in family? For Ereinion to insist so felt like he didn’t want to be a part of their life, their love. But in some ways he was right— Ereinion could only stand by and watch while Elrond gave Celebrían everything _he_ wanted.

Something had changed—inexorable and inescapable— and there was no returning to what they had known. Whatever easy camaraderie they had before was gone— but had they ever had it in the first place? Had Elrond been so blind as to misread even that? Elrond never could have even guessed at the strain Ereinion put himself under, despite the latter’s protestations that it was his own choice and he was happy living with it.

Elrond felt pinned, as if with a great, heavy claw. But what could he do? Was there anything to do? Did not Ereinion have the right to dictate his own path, his own definition of happiness?

Elrond’s mind walked through a bramble thicket, cut up with no way out. He sat on the couch and lay back down, staring up at the paned glass ceiling sloping over his head. The broad, fat leaves of their cinnamon tree rustled against the glass, still green even as the foliage around their house turned to fall.

He turned his thoughts away, trying to settle his heart.

At least, he smiled up to the glass, he was born Elrond and _not_ Erestor or Glorfindel. Truly, that was a cantankerous relationship. The fact that the two of them were happy now was something of a pyrrhic victory. Glorfindel wasn’t more than a few hours back in Middle Earth before it was plain to all who looked that he brought a storm with him, storm enough to match Elrond’s notoriously difficult councilor. Maybe, Elrond thought, there was some secret they discovered in how to untangle their hearts enough to find peace after an age of hurricanes.

His thoughts wandered back, back to that first meeting. With hindsight, it struck him as almost comical—Glorfindel trotting up like he hadn’t been dead for hundreds of years, Erestor faced with an infuriating, beloved ghost.

Yes. Much better that he had been born Elrond and no one else.

 

~*~

 

The trails leading up through the mountains to Imladris _glittered_ this time of year. Rich crimson maple leaves fluttered against ghostly golden birches, catching and holding the light as the sun dipped in and out of the mountain peaks. It was hard to believe that dark shadows lay just over the ridges, creeping along their borders. Patrols surrounding the area, while rigorous, were still few, as Imladris was only just founded a few years ago. It stood as little more than a camp, construction steady but slow. Thus it was that Erestor and Elrond, desiring to walk among the trees, went armed.

“Ai, Erestor, we have chosen _so_ well.” Elrond, pleased with his tiny settlement, fluffed up like a little bull sparrow.

“That we have,” Erestor returned, relaxing from his task-force demeanor. Life watching over Imladris was demanding, but Elrond knew that Erestor couldn’t be happier. He kept pausing to pick up little multi-colored leaves to make into bookmarks for later, humming under his breath. “I imagine when the King visits you’ll have much to show off,” He continued. This was his way of saying _When the King comes you’ll be insufferable_ but Elrond let it slide.

“I must thank you in advance, dearest Seneschal. When he does visit I’ll be sure to entrust everything to your capable hands while taking all the glory for myself.” Elrond nudged him with his elbow, giggling like he was only 30 again. Ai, but the trees were so _beautiful_ and the mountain smelled of sweet grass and loam— the clean air so crisp and cool that it could go right through him, taking all his worries with it.

Erestor rolled his eyes. “As my lord wishes,” he grumbled, carefully tucking his leaves away.

A high, sweet whistle trilled out over the trees, a jaunty little melody joining with the birds. Around a bend in the path echoed the faintest sound of hooves clacking over stone.

“What’s this?” Erestor stopped close to Elrond’s side. “We were not expecting the King for some time.”

“A messenger, perhaps?” Elrond replied. “There are no patrols in this area right now, and I cannot think that we are expecting any visitors.”

“We’ll have our answer soon enough.” Erestor’s hand played around the hilt of his sword.

And then he arrived. Around the bend trotted a dappled grey charger, high-stepping and arching his proud neck over the fallen leaves. Astride him sat a tall, graceful elf, his spun-gold hair falling in waves from a high-tail tied with blue ribbon. It matched the thick knit scarf he wore around his neck, and his sparkling sapphire eyes. Over his head hung a richly woven banner embroidered with vivid greens, oranges, and golds, with a little four-petaled flower in the middle. When he saw them he paused, beaming. “Hello!” his voice called out, clear and sure.

Erestor _surged_ forward, blade drawn, Elrond shoved behind him for safekeeping. “Halt!” He snarled.

“Erestor, why—” Elrond grasped Erestor’s arm but he wrenched away, ignoring him.

The rider stopped, watching intently.

“Return to whatever shadows you come from,” Erestor’s voice was a low, grating growl. Elrond had never seen him so upset, his sword shaking in his hands and his eyes blown-out with fear. “My lord, do not listen to anything it says,” he whispered, voice wavering.

“Erestor _what_ is going on?” Elrond hissed, his own blade half-drawn at his side. He hadn’t _felt_ anything evil pass into his domain, but Erestor’s distress gave him pause.

“ _That,_ my lord, is something that shouldn’t exist— an abomination wearing a fair face.” Erestor’s eyes never left the rider, who was now covering his mouth to hide a smile.

“It’s good to see, my lord, that age hasn’t dulled your sharp tongue,” The rider chuckled, dismounting.

“ _Stay where you are._ ” Erestor’s lips curled back from his teeth, his hand reaching back to clutch Elrond’s sleeve.

The figure stopped, hands held up. “I mean no harm, my lords.”

Elrond placed a comforting hand on Erestor’s clenched fist, still keeping a grip on his sword. He turned to the figure. “Listen, for the sake of my Seneschal, how about you introduce yourself and we can go from there.”

The figure paused. “I am called Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, which I am informed no longer exists. I am here bearing a message from the King, and to offer my services to Lord Elrond and his house.”

“Oh.” That, at least, was not what Elrond was expecting. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“He is, my lord.” Erestor’s sword hung in the air. “He died in the pass above Gondolin before you were born. This _thing_ has stolen his face.”

“I was reborn,” The one calling himself Glorfindel replied. “The Valar sent me back. It’s good to see you again, Erestor.”

Erestor blanched, his fist clenching around his sword.

Elrond frowned. “I don’t suppose you can prove your claim?”

Glorfindel reached down to his pocket to draw out a stamped letter. “This is from the King.”

“Letters can be forged,” Erestor shot back.

Glorfindel looked long at Erestor, something inscrutable passing between them. “Very well,” he said at last, and reached up to take off the knit scarf.

A thick-banded scar circled his neck, a deep purple-red. “This I received from the Balrog’s whip. Proof enough for you?”

Erestor’s sword dipped, then fell back to his side. Where once fear had blown open his eyes, now anger narrowed them. He sheathed his sword and whirled away on his heel, stalking back up the path to Imladris with his hair billowing in a black cloud behind him.

Elrond watched him go, then turned back to Glorfindel. “Well then, I take that to mean you’re telling the truth. If he believes you then I suppose I do too,” he shrugged.

Glorfindel gave a wry smile. “We met some time ago and didn’t leave on the best terms.”

“I can see _that,”_ Elrond replied. “I expect I’ll hear the whole of it eventually. In any case, I am the one called Elrond, and it’s good to meet you, my lord, though I suspect the reason for your return is not a happy one.”

Glorfindel bowed, his hand pressed to his heart. “My lord. This is for you.” He handed Elrond the letter, which he broke open.

 _Elrond—he’s telling the truth. Try to break the news to Erestor gently, I hear they knew each other and Glorfindel might come as something of a surprise. I’m placing him under your command, but I think you should keep him from anything resembling active duty for a while— give him a little time._ Elrond smiled at that—his kind king. _He tells me he’s been sent to keep an eye on a particular threat: Sauron. Apparently even those in Aman are worried— troubling indeed, though, quite frankly, it’s about time they paid attention. I may yet have need of you here— will discuss further upon arrival._ The letter, more of a note, was hastily written and scribbled slantwise over the paper. At the bottom Ereinion stamped his seal in familiar blue ink.

“Well Glorfindel, everything seems to be in order,” he mused. “Come, now that you have deprived me of my finest source of conversation, I would hear anything you wish to tell me about yourself and your journey.”

“Erestor? Your finest conversation, truly?” Glorfindel fell into step with him, incredulous. His charger clopped along behind, lipping at Elrond’s tunic.

“Absolutely,” Elrond nodded. “He was my and my brother’s guardian when we were very young and has not left my side since. I find his sharpness, shall we say, “refreshing” after tedious days at court.”

Glorfindel snorted. “That sounds like him.” A long ago look crossed his face, but was quickly set aside. “As to my journey— if you thought my arrival here was contentious, you should have seen my arrival in Lindon. Gil-galad locked me in a room for _three days_ putting me and my story through every sort of verification he could think of.”

“I see now I have been too lenient,” Elrond teased. “I shall lock you away for seven days at least.”

He grinned. “Then let me add that he fed me the finest foods and gave me the best wines to drink. I laid in the lap of luxury, I tell you.”

Elrond laughed. “Somehow, my lord, I do not think you should begin your tenuous stay here with lies. But I would have you tell me something, if you wish— what of the afterlife? None among us has truly known what happens to our souls should we perish here, not even since my father reunited Aman and Middle Earth. You have passed through and come out the other side.”

Glorfindel grew somber. “In truth, I do not remember much. I remember my life before, I remember my death, but I do not remember my fëa’s flight from this body, nor if I saw those I love in the hazy mist. I remember being soothed, and of peace, but of being alone. When I awoke I was on the shores of Aman, a small ship sat before me and an imperative to sail weighed heavily on my heart. I did not even see any others in Aman, only the birds and fish. Later on Ulmo came out of the sea to speak with me, but in truth, his presence and words were the most fantastical things I remember.”

“So you do not know if others were re-embodied as you were?” Elrond felt he pressed too hard, but the words tumbled out of his mouth nonetheless. A sudden, jumping panic, mingled with desperate hope, unfurled in his chest.

“I don’t.” Glorfindel replied. Elrond’s heart fell. “I sense, my lord,” Glorfindel continued, “That you ask for news of someone you have lost. It is possible I could have witnessed something of those great mysteries, but that knowledge was taken from me if I ever had it. I am sorry I was not able to give you more hope, or peace. I’m afraid that I have to fall back, as you do, on the old stories and promises the Valar gave us as assurances of an incarnate afterlife.”

Two figures, dear even now, flickered in his mind’s eye. _Your kestrel misses you._

Elrond sighed. “I admit, I was curious, and for the sad reason you guessed. But here, allow me to show off my little settlement. I’m rather proud of it, you see.”

 

~*~

 

“My love,” Celebrían’s voice came to him through his closed eyes. “You’re _brooding.”_

“I am, and I’m not ashamed of it.” He squinted up at her, briefly blinded by the glare of her hair in the late sun.

“You should be, brooding with our sons home for dinner. Come, the food’s ready.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, the glinting light flickering.

“Both of them are here?” Elrond hoisted himself up from the couch, following her through the house.

“See for yourself,” She turned to the kitchen, where Elladan was surreptitiously wiping his floury hands on his brother’s tunic.

 _I saw that,_ Elrond mouthed to him, walking up to hug him tight.

 _No you didn’t,_ Elladan replied, slinging long arms around his dad’s neck.

“It’s good to have you home,” Elrond murmured into his shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of his son against him.

Elladan sighed, a big whoosh of air leaving his chest all at once. “It’s good to be home,” he said, hushed against Elrond’s tunic. Elrond suspected homecomings would be like this for a little while yet— a little urgent, tentatively reinforcing Elladan’s decision to be here and not elsewhere. Elrond just held on, thankful.

 

After dinner the twins wandered off to their respective rooms, tired from their journey. Elrond and Celebrían also went to bed early, Elrond yawning as they climbed the steps to their room.

“Celebrían, I understand why _I_ sleep as much as the Children of Men, but I fear you have no excuse,” He said, slipping into a nightshift and sprawling out on the quilt.

“I should think hearing your brooding thoughts echoing through the house would be enough to tire anyone,” She shoved his legs away, making room to sit at the foot of the bed. “Come now, best have it out sooner rather than later.” She rubbed his foot, tickling up against his toes.

Elrond groaned, rolling up to slump against the pillows. “I’m sure you can guess, lover mine.”

Her face grew drawn with concern. “Ereinion.”

“Precisely.” Elrond reached up to unwind his braids, the tight hair at his temples tugging painfully. “I am at a loss, my love. Something has changed and I can neither name it nor discover how to fix it.”

“What makes you think it has to be fixed?” She cocked her head, questioning.

“I am _upset_ about it, that’s what.” He groused.

She pinched his big toe. “Just because _you_ are upset—”

“Ai, I know, I know. I should get over myself.” He tugged at a particularly stubborn knot, wincing. “But our dearest friend is heartbroken and I am powerless to soothe it. Not only that, but with his confession I feel that our relationship has altered, and I’m not sure that it has been for the better. I would discover what it is that has shifted so.”

“Fair enough,” she nodded. “But what, do you feel, has changed?”

“Surely you’ve noticed, love. I saw you watching us. There is _distance_ where there was none before.” The last of the knot came out with a jerk and Elrond hissed, tossing his hair back.

“I did,” she tucked her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them.

“And what do you think?” Elrond mirrored her, drawing his knees up and rubbing his tired eyes against his hands.

“I think you are right that things are different, and that it comes from Ereinion subtly pulling away from our company. While your own awkwardness plays a part, I think his is the greater reason.” she paused, deliberating.

Elrond’s fingers twisted at the quilt. “I understand his desire for space, even though it makes me nervous and uncomfortable. But I mislike the idea of _permanent_ distance in the new paradigm of our relationship with him.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking hard. “I think that there are two paths ahead of us,” she replied. “One in which we learn to find a new equilibrium in light of his confession, and hopefully return to the level of warmth and love we had before. The other is one in which Ereinion pulls away, bit by bit, until he discovers a comfortable distance from us. Neither of these paths are something we can choose for him.”

“How do you mean?” Elrond’s chest tightened.

“I mean,” she said, eyes clouded with worry, “That we will always love him, and our devotion to him will never fade. _We_ will never pull away from _him_. But he must decide how much of us and our love he can handle without tearing himself apart. He may say he’s satisfied with his choice, but there’s only so much a broken heart can take— I worry he may push himself too far. Before, when you didn’t know, or when the words of love had never been spoken aloud, it might’ve been easier to be close to us. I myself thought he was more at peace than what your conversation later revealed to be true. Not only this, but he may wish to hide his pain again. You, in your infinite tenderness. will be watching his heart, wanting to protect it, and I don’t know if he will be able to bear such a gaze for long.”

“You mean we may lose him.” His heart kicked at his ribs, beating hard.

“I do not think it will go so far as that, but yes, we might lose some of our closeness with him. At any rate, I do not think things will ever be the same— distance seems like the more likely option to me.” Her brown knit with barely-held fear.

Elrond closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands hard against them. _Ereinion._ He didn’t want to think about what losing him, even a little bit of him, would mean.

 

~*~

 

After Mount Doom Isildur rode away and left the elves to pick up the dead alone. Elrond didn’t have the heart to kill him, even though he should. He _should_ kill him and destroy Sauron’s Ring—but he was incapable of either. Instead Elrond just watched Isildur canter away, clear-eyed on his steed, not even sparing a glance for his dead father stretched out on a shield.

Elrond left the camp and stumbled to Barad-dûr, the sword in his hand scraping along the rocks. Other elves avoided the tower, sick with dread and sorrow, tending to the dead and wounded further away. It was an empty comfort to know that for a little while, at least, he would be alone.

The crumpled, charred bodies of men, elves, dwarves and orcs littered the ground, burst open like fallen fruit. Elrond made himself look at them, searching their faces for familiarity when he could make out their features under the blood.

He had been far away, too far away when it happened. All he knew was that one moment he had his sword hilt-deep in the belly of another orc when the next a great keening cry rose up over the ranks of Mordor and they fled, scrambling away to hide in the mountains. Elrond looked up just in time to see the great black figure of Sauron crumbling to the ground, Isildur standing triumphant with a glistening golden ring held above his head. There was no time to ask _Where is your father where is the king,_ only enough to shout _Follow me my lord!_ and sprint for their lives to the mountain.

And even that had been folly.

And when Elendil returned, borne away on his broken shield, Elrond knew.

And somehow this was _so much worse_ than the War of Wrath, for now there was no tent to return to, no King to kneel before, no promise of a future beyond this—

Barad-dûr leered above him, wind whipping around its peak in a low moan. Bodies piled up against it, the sand at the foot of the tower drinking up their blood. He circled it cautiously, wary of the gaping black windows watching him.

Elrond knew exactly what he was looking for. He was looking for a night-blue banner staining the ground, spangled with stars. He was looking for a broken crown bent over that beloved blue cloak. He was looking for aeglos, snapped in half in limp hands. He was looking for his King.

He found what he was looking for impaled on the walls of the tower.

Ereinion sagged, pierced through the chest against a large, spiked barricade. His head lolled against one shoulder, spine snapped. The mithril cuff, coated in gore, hung by a thread from his ear. Elrond took a deep breath and reached up to lift him down, cutting his hand against the puckered edges of Ereinion’s burnt, twisted armor. For now there was only this, only the work of freeing body from stone— only the work and _not_ the screaming, agonized voice in the back of his skull—It took a little while, the slip of his hands against slick metal, the wet squelch of the stone against his King’s mutilated insides filling his ears. _Ereinion where have you gone come back to me my King—_

When the body was finally free Elrond collapsed back against the wall of the tower, cradling Ereinion close, soaking himself in blood. Ereinion’s face pressed in the crook of his neck and Elrond didn’t dare look, didn’t dare see the hollow lantern of his eyes, half-lidded and dull. He just clutched those shattered shoulders to his breast and finally let the screaming voice have its way with him.

They found him later and took the body away. Elrond thought about turning around and walking into the wastes and never coming back.

He didn’t, but it was a close thing.

 

When he returned to Imladris Erestor gathered him up and hid him away. Elrond stayed in his rooms, curtains drawn, sleeping odd hours on a rug by the fire. He felt that as soon as he opened the curtains and took care of himself time would start moving again and he would be drawn further and further away from the last moment Ereinion looked at him with living eyes. He didn’t want to think about what that would mean, moving on.

Erestor let him have a week before he lifted Elrond up from the floor, nestling him close like a child, and took him out to the gardens. Glorfindel was already there with water and a few plain bread rolls, the rest of the gardens empty.

And they took care of him.

And, eventually, Elrond opened his curtains and began sleeping normally in his bed. He ate better and regained the weight he lost during the war. He left the sword behind and learned to be a healer. He sang sometimes, softly under his breath. Every now and again, however, he would look askance at Glorfindel and a vicious hope would surge in his chest. _Reincarnation._ He didn’t move on, but he learned to live again.

When they offered the High Kingship to him he outright refused. Instead he left Círdan in charge of the Havens and retreated to Imladris with Erestor and Glorfindel as his councilors. Lindon as he had once known it faded, a second great exodus fleeing over the sea. The cities emptied, leaving great halls and arches to the whims of vines and bats. While many stayed, Elrond recognized this as a turning point for Elves— never again would their civilization reach the heights they had fallen from. Never again would a High King rule over their people.

Thranduil, returning as an orphan to the Greenwood with less than a third of his forces, now ruled as last elven king of Middle Earth. From Imladris Elrond watched as the King of the Greenwood grew more and more isolated in his wine-soaked grief. He worried for Thranduil up until he received a glad letter— Thranduil and his wife had a child, a little son named Legolas.

Something changed with Legolas’ arrival. If children could still be born in a world such as this, then maybe not all was lost. Maybe new green things could still grow in the autumn years of their time in Middle Earth. _Legolas._ Little green leaf.

 

And then Galadriel and her family came to visit.

Elrond stood on the balcony overlooking the bridge over the falls, watching for their arrival while chatting with Lindir, a bright young minstrel who had attached himself to Elrond’s court with surprising tenacity. Elrond was fond of him— he was witty, almost sharp-tongued enough to keep pace with Erestor, and carried a bright mischievousness that got him out of trouble _almost_ as quickly as it got him in it. Lindir was in charge of the music for Galadriel and Celeborn’s arrival, and was trying to convince Elrond that yes, it was a good idea to have an instrumental version of this one dirty song, it was such a good song, a pretty song, please please please my lord, it’ll be funny.

Elrond had no intention of letting him get away with it, but was content to watch Lindir bat the question around like a cat with yarn.

A horn call over the bridge turned his attention away, down to where several white horses cantered through the archways of Imladris.

“Ah, here they are,” Lindir mused, leaving his badgering for the moment and surveying the gathering crowd. “So that’s the great Lady! She looks terrifying.”

Galadriel, as always, _was_ terrifying, riding at the head of the procession like an incarnate star with only Celeborn’s presence to hold her to earth. But even Galadriel’s searing brightness faded when Elrond looked to see who rode behind them.

She was laughing, her head thrown back and her hair spilling over her shoulders like a foaming white waterfall. Elrond had never seen anything so beautiful as the moment she bit her lip, holding back a giggle, her eyes gleaming bright even from this distance. Elrond had seen Galadriel’s daughter before but always at a distance, always through the haze of war— never with the blossoms of Imladris dusting her shoulders, never this _close._ And then she looked up, looked up at _him_ and _smiled,_ and he knew he was in very, very deep trouble.

“Play whatever song you wish, Lindir, I have to go find Erestor,” Elrond stuttered, faltering away from the balcony. He didn’t wait to see the look of surprise (or gleeful realization) on Lindir’s face, but hurried to Erestor’s quarters to find him.

“Erestor!” He slammed the door open. “Erestor I think we have a proble—”

A messy golden head rose up from Erestor’s bed, took one look at Elrond, and flopped back down. “Erestor, your lord needs you,” Glorfindel mumbled out from his pillow, elbowing Erestor, who was glaring daggers at Elrond.

“He’s your lord too, idiot,” Erestor ground out, hair and robes in a state Elrond would not exactly describe as fit for polite company. A particularly stark purple bruise peeked out from an unlikely location. “I assume, my lord, that this is an urgent matter?” He asked, flat.

Elrond crossed his arms, smiling. “At last, I see you two have finally worked yourselves out. I shall have to tell Lindir! The two of you have just made me a small fortune. Now, as I was saying—”

“There were _bets?!”_ Erestor snarled, hands tightening on the covers. “ _You_ placed a _bet_ on _us?!”_

“Of course there were bets, Sweetheart.” Glorfindel flopped a comforting arm over Erestor, who promptly shoved it away. “We’re not exactly subtle, the only difference being that I know it and you vehemently deny it. I expect, however, our _kind_ and _gracious_ lord will be willing to compensate us for our troubles.” This he said with a pointed look over his naked shoulders.

Erestor glared at him, huffing. “My lord,” He turned back to Elrond, his voice falling from killing edge to simply cutting. “There was something _urgent_ you wished to speak to me about?” He arranged his robes into something more appropriate under Elrond’s amused look.

The jump in Elrond’s heart returned full-force. “Nothing, just—I had forgotten Galadriel’s daughter’s name and didn’t want to embarrass myself.” He felt a traitorous blush rise in his cheeks.

Glorfindel’s head popped back up. “Erestor, my darling, we have just snatched triumph from the jaws of eternal smugness. Our dear lord Elrond is in _love!”_

“ _What—_ I am in no such—” Elrond spluttered, face burning.

A wicked grin stole over Erestor’s features. “Her name is Celebrían, my lord,” he drawled. “I hear she is passing fair, as well as good-natured and kind. Tell me, do the reports tell true?”

“I have not met her officially,” Elrond grumbled, ceasing his protestations. _Celebrían._ Silver queen. It fit her.

“Well we shall have to rectify that! Come, Glorfindel, we must _tell Lindir,”_ he smirked. “I am sure he is keeping the books already and I am going to need your flirting abilities to distract Galadriel long enough for those two to get to know each other.” A happy Erestor was a dangerous thing indeed, the delight of revenge driving him to swirl up into an entirely too form-fitting robe, Glorfindel at his heels.

Elrond inwardly sighed. This was going to be a long night.

 

By all that was good and holy, she was more— just _more_ up close. More clever, more beautiful, more kind, more engaging, more… _shimmery._ Erestor broke with his more reserved nature to engage her in conversation as often as he could through out the evening, sweeping Elrond up with him. She and his prickly counselor got along almost instantly, trading stories and news like old friends. By the valar, her _laugh._ Elrond, for his part, spent half of his time trying to keep up and half trying to make sure Lindir didn’t catch him a compromising moment, failing at both.

Then, as Erestor had undoubtedly planned, he and Celebrían were suddenly alone, sequestered amongst the hydrangeas and climbing jasmine of Imladris’ extensive gardens. The sweet mist of night curled around them, the moonlight striking silver through the trees and her hair— Elrond wondered if Erestor had planned the moonlight too; it was all very romantic and intimidating. They drifted through the gardens, silence sending a frisson of nervousness up his spine. She took his arm, slipping a soft hand over his (still shaking) elbow, and they wandered further from the flickering lanterns.

“My lord, would you show me the waterfalls?” She leaned into his side to whisper. “I have heard them calling all evening and Erestor tells me they’re beautiful in the moonlight.” Her lips brushed light against his ear.

He would later tell her he had been falling all evening, but it was then that he crashed headfirst through infatuation and into love. He swallowed, the feel of her against him slowly driving him mad. It helped, of course, that he was being thoroughly seduced by someone who unmistakably _wanted him back_. “As you wish, my lady. Follow me.”

“Please, my lord,” she smiled, fingers sliding down to thread through his. “Call me Celebrían.”

Midnight found them tangled together at the foot of the falls, the roar of the water a blessed cover for her high gasps as he nipped at her neck, her hands woven through his hair— and he was lost, completely _lost_ , vows kindling on his tongue—

And her mouth rose up to his, meeting under the mist catching in their hair, answering everything he was asking with a resounding, unspoken _yes._

 

Erestor lost the bet to Glorfindel, who understood that, despite Elrond’s inexperience, he was, to quote, “easy.” Galadriel didn’t appreciate Elrond stealing her daughter away so quickly and _especially_ didn’t appreciate Glorfindel conspiring against her, and took alarming measures to make her displeasure known. Celeborn was delighted as well as amused, and immediately pulled Erestor away to talk wedding plans, which Elrond hadn’t mentioned but didn’t mind thinking about. Money flowed through Lindir’s hands like water when he wasn’t in the middle of composing at least fifty new songs.

And suddenly Elrond’s life was full again, full of joy and excitement and the arching spark of _family,_ of _gaining_ family instead of losing. When Glorfindel jokingly asked if Elrond would name his first child after him Elrond actually burst into tears. Children! Ai, they would have _children,_ he would have _kids_ with _Celebrían—_

Even then, in all the fullness of promises and endless joyous futures multiplying under his hands, even then a corner of his chest felt hollow and empty.

Maglor. Maedhros. Elros. Ereinion. He kept finding himself paused over his work, ink dry on the tip of his pen, lost imagining what it would be like to introduce all of them to his future wife. What they would think, when they met her? What would she think in return? Elros would _cackle,_ dragging Elrond aside to tell him all the things he absolutely didn’t need to know about his wife Tar-Yávië and to gloat about Elrond’s inexperience. Elrond suspected his brother, Tar-Yávië, and Celebrían would all make a terrifying coalition during family holidays. Maglor, of course would be overjoyed, taking Celebrían aside to have tea while Maedhros groused, _Galadriel’s daughter, truly Elrond? Now we shall never have any peace._ Elrond wasn’t sure how Celebrían would take to them at first, but Elrond thought that with enough tea and conversation she’d warm to them, Maglor especially. Maedhros would groan and dig his heels in about the whole thing, but secretly be very pleased. And _Ereinion—_ Even in death his was the opinion Elrond most sought in his mind. Ereinion would beam down at him, alight with pride and affection, and say, low enough to strike right through his heart, _Congratulations, Elrond. She’s lovely._ He’d agree to give his blessing to their marriage, and then they all would be there _together,_ all his family in the same place for once—and there were times, when Elrond looked up from his wonderings, that the page before him would be wet with tears.

In a fit of sentimentality Elrond lit four floating candles and sent them over the falls. It helped him feel close to them, and to drain some of the mournfulness he felt. In those days especially he felt their absence as keenly as a knife pricking at his spine, wishing beyond hope, beyond time, that they were there to share in his happiness.

 

So it was that after, after everything that came next—both the sweet and the bitter— after he stepped on the ship to Aman, he hoped. Elros, he knew, was lost to him forever. But Elrond let himself rest easy, knowing that wherever Elros was he would be there to greet Estel and Arwen when they crossed over into death.

But, as for the other three…

Elrond spared one glance for Glorfindel’s recreated body and _hoped._

 

~*~

 

Elrond thought that sailing to Aman meant that everything in his life had finally settled out, that he could rest in the warmth of the family he’d built for himself and heal from his many sorrows. It seems he had been a fool.

“Love, come back to me.” Celebrían’s hand on his calf pulled him out of his memories once more. “Peace, Elrond. All is not lost.”

“Forgive me,” He said, looking up to her concerned face. “This conversation has troubled me more than I thought it would. I understand that Ereinion must decide for himself what he wants, but I can’t bear the thought that he would pull away, even a little bit. He—” His throat worked. “I feel, sometimes, the weight of everyone I have lost all at once. That he was given back to me was a long hoped-for blessing. I find I’m a bit possessive as well as fearful.”

Celebrían crawled up the bed to lean against his side. “I understand.” She took a deep breath, whooshing out of her lungs. “When I think about it I feel like a caged bird, desperate to break out and run back to him, to _make_ him stay with us. But I can’t see any other solution other than to give him space and let him make his own call.”

 _A straightforward solution._ Another conversation buzzed at the edges of his mind.

“Celebrían.” Elrond said slowly, words feeling strange and bulky in his mouth. “Does Ereinion prefer men only, or women too?”

She snorted. “You can’t be thinking of trying to set him up with one of your cousins or some such nonsense. He won’t allow it.”

“I’m not thinking that, exactly. But do you know? About his preferences?” His thoughts raced, clicking into place like little whirring gears. He must truly be distressed to think of such a wild thing.

She sat up, narrowing her eyes at him. “Hmm. I asked him that very question once, as a sort of joke. He replied that he has no particular preference either way, but that as someone in a position of great power, attraction, for him, primarily followed trust. At least, that was what he could remember about his initial dalliances— he fell for you rather early in life and so far as I could tell didn’t look back. Why do you ask?”

Elrond bit his lip. Another path opened up before him, insubstantial and theoretical but it was _another path_. “This is probably absolute folly and you will most likely have every right to declare me an invalid after this, but hear me out. When I was talking to Bilbo he mentioned something interesting about Dwarves.”

“Dwarves, Elrond? Really?” She frowned, but let him continue.

“Yes. I told Bilbo about Ereinion’s love for me and his first thought was that I was in love with the both of you and was wondering how to coordinate that.” His sentences came out jumbled and rushed, too small vessels for his too large thoughts.

“Both of us?” Her brow turned down in confusion, but her eyes grew thoughtful. “How can anyone be in love with two people at once?”

“Apparently the Dwarves do it all the time— marriages of two, yes, but three or four or even more,” he replied, heart rate kicking back up.

“So what you’re asking is if the _three_ of _us_ could be in a relationship.” She caught his train of thought and her eyes widened. “Not a friendship relationship, but something similar to what you and I have now, only with Ereinion added to our two.” Elrond almost expected anger from her but was instead greeted with a look of honest surprise.

“It is only a strange tradition that Bilbo brought up, nothing of real consequence,” he backtracked, suddenly afraid of the immensity of the possibility before him.

“No. We should consider this seriously.” She stopped, almost shocked at what she just said.

“We should?” Elrond repeated, just to be sure.

Celebrían nodded, looking at him straight in the eyes. “We should.”

“As you wish,” Elrond replied, still ambivalent about the dubious direction this conversation was taking.

She laughed a little, looking as taken aback as Elrond himself felt. “Ai, what am I saying? We cannot find a way to fix Ereinion’s broken heart so we invite him into our bed instead?”

Elrond choked. “ _That’s_ a bit of a leap _._ ”

“Not so much, dearest. You _implied_ it _,_ after all _._ ” She tickled under his knee and he yelped.

“Well then what do _you_ think about it? About sleeping with him?” He meant this to get under skin like she so easily could get under his, but she simply shrugged.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Elrond, but Ereinion isn’t exactly hard to look at, on top of all his other fine qualities— you make it sound like sleeping with him would be a hardship. Are you not attracted to him?” She looked at him slyly from under her eyelashes.

“I— are you? Attracted to him?” Just when he thought he’d gotten his feet back under him _whoosh_ there they went.

She nodded. “I am— I didn’t stop being attracted to people just because I got married. I’m attracted to Glorfindel as well, if that makes any difference—though I do find Ereinion more appealing than our dazzling friend. Attraction like that just wasn’t important, at least before this conversation. And do answer the question, dearest. Are you attracted to him? It’s fine if you’re not.”

“ _Of course_ I am he’s—” Elrond snapped his mouth shut before he could make a further fool of himself.

“He’s…” Her chin tilted forward. “What? Handsome? Gorgeous?”

Elrond relented. “He’s _unbelievably_ beautiful, Celebrían. In all ways, not just his physical appearance. It’s just that it wasn’t until after he… well, after he died that I discovered that I could be attracted in that way to another male. Looking back before that it seems obvious just how clueless I was about it all, but yes, I find him attractive.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement, then.” She leaned back, pleased. A quiet fell between them, sparking like a million fireflies with unsaid things.

“Elrond, answer me something.” Celebrían broke the silence. “And do not be afraid of your answer. Do you think you would love him the way he loves you if I were not here? If I had never entered your life?”

An unexpected spear of certainty struck through him. “Yes. _Absolutely_ ,” he replied, startled at the vehemence of his affirmation.

“And if there are two of us? Could you love us both?” She continued, placing a hand on his thigh, kneading.

“Could you?” Elrond returned, avoiding an answer.

Her face softened, and he thought she must have been thinking back to her time living with him. “Yes, I could,” she returned softly, reaching up to rub a banded scar at her neck. “It is as you said once before, it would not take much to change the color of my love for him into something else. Just as my love for our children is different but no less than my love for you, so too my love for Ereinion has been different but no less strong. He—” She gave a gentle smile. “I think you are the only person who can understand what he means to me.” She fell silent, contemplating.

“Yes,” Elrond broke the silence. “I think I do understand you. Everything you say is true in my heart as well. Perhaps that is why I am so upset— he means so much to me that I cannot bear to either see him in pain or to see him exchange our close friendship for something less than what it is now.”

Her voice, when she spoke, was deadly serious. “But those aren’t the only two paths available, are they.”

“No, apparently not.” Their previous teasing left them and in its place grew something else entirely.

Her hand tightened against him, and her eyes sharpened. “Elrond, I feel we have come to a crossroads. If we decide that this thing is folly, then we shall remain here, delight in the love the two of us share together, and work to strengthen our friendship with Ereinion.” She stopped, further words caught somewhere between her throat and her tongue. _But._ Elrond felt suddenly anxious for whatever it was she was about to say. “I feel, however,” she continued, the words slow in coming. “That we are only two short steps away from something new. Not something more beautiful or valuable than what we have now, but something _different—_ and maybe we will decide that we want this different thing more than what we have now. Tell me truly— Do you think you could stand to be in a relationship, a relationship like this one, but with two people at once? Could you love us both, and could you stand to know I loved you both? That he did, as well? Would that engender jealousy and suspicion between us, or could we create this new thing?”

Elrond paused.

He took a few steps back from the conversation, looked at himself from the outside. He felt that he and Celebrían stood at a war table, pouring over maps and strategies. There they were, already hip-deep in a _ludicrous, impossible_ conversation about _having sex_ with their best friend— talking as if it were possible, if it could be true.  As if they could just saunter over to Ereinion and ask him to be their lover, easy as anything. But then there was this undertone, this thread of actual… desire? Of want? Of _need._ And where had that come from?

In his mind he hesitated at the shore of a new, vast sea. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the water.

He imagined his life with Celebrían— what it meant to him. Love and affection, yes, but the safety and certainty of falling asleep next to someone who would guard your dreams, who would be there when you woke up. Someone you could sit with in silence, soothed by the balm of their presence. Taking care of them and letting them take care of you. Building a life with someone. Loving someone.

He imagined what it would be like if there were two such people in his life. What it would be like waking up in a house where Ereinion stood in the kitchen, drinking tea. Waking up in that balmy contentment and _kissing_ him, of feeling his warm smile under his lips, of feeling Celebrían’s hand on his back as she came up behind him. Of being surrounded by this new incarnation of their love. He imagined a world where he and Celebrían both could give Ereinion everything he wanted and more, everything he deserved from love.

Elrond’s thoughts canted to the side, away from the morning vision. There was, of course, more to this than sleepy mornings and chaste kisses. What about _sex_? Because Celebrían was right— this question wasn’t about loving Ereinion more or less than he did now, but about loving him _differently._ The relationship between the three of them, and especially between Celebrían and Ereinion, already looked something like marriage if he were honest, just without that final layer of intimacy. They loved him, they took care of him, and he loved and took care of them too. But what about the _physical_ aspect of that relationship? What _about_ sex?

His cock gave a perplexing twitch in his leggings and his face grew hot.

“Elrond.” Celebrían’s hand ran up his thigh to slide against the bulge in his leggings. “Is this your answer?” She squeezed, an impish grin playing about her features.

He gulped. “Yes.” He tilted up a little into her hand. “At least,” He continued, trying to keep his head on straight, “When I think about it, I would be willing to see if it is possible. At the very least I feel no fear or jealousy at the thought— I am secure enough in your love to never doubt you or your affection for me, even if you were to be with him as well—and something tells me I would not be wrong in thinking you feel the same way about Ereinion and I together. I think, however, we would have to keep a careful eye on our hearts, as the gap between thought and action is large indeed. As it is, I am…” He looked down at his tented pants. _“Amenable._ ”

Celebrían snickered. “I can tell. But give me more of your thoughts, Elrond. I need to know exactly what you think. This is not a topic for innuendos and insinuations— we should be explicit with each other.”

Elrond took her hand. “As always, you are the wisest between us.” She rolled her eyes, but he continued. “When I think of you and Ereinion together, _intimately_ together, I feel…” he searched for the words. “At peace. Glad. _Intrigued._ ” She giggled, blushing, and he squeezed her hand. “He… the two of you are so close, my love. When Ereinion told me on the shore that you were good friends it was an unexpected joy— to know two people I love so much had come to care for each other as well. Even now, seeing the two of you, drinking tea in our kitchen and talking together, brings me a peace I never thought to know. It is a beautiful, precious thing the two of you have— and if that were to enter a different dimension I believe I would be happy in that as well. For truly, all I desire is to see you loved, and to be a part of loving you. Adding Ereinion to our life doesn’t take you away from me, save for perhaps a little time that we might have had to ourselves will be shared with another. But that is a little concern, one that we can negotiate further when we arrive there. And we are blessed with immortality! Somehow I think time shall not be a problem. What about you? What do you think about the two of us… um, intimately?”

She smiled a slow, wicked smile. “I want to _watch._ ”

“You _what?!”_ By the valar, _that_ was an image that would haunt his waking dreams for days to come. Thank Eru he was retired and didn’t have _other_ pressing matters to attend to.

She bit her lip, flushing red. “I… like the idea of you two together. For the reasons you have said, yes, but… ai, I do not know how to say it.” She turned away, flustered.

“No no, tell me more.” Elrond leaned forward, smiling lasciviously. A thousand pulsing visions lit behind his eyes, igniting low in the bowl of his hips. “You want to watch me get _fucked_ by Ereinion,” he said, running his hand up her thigh. “You want to see me kneeling before him like I do before you. You want to watch me _beg._ ” Even saying it he felt his heart pound and his bravado falter. _Oh_ , now that this was taking shape, edging towards reality, all his teasing condensing into _desire._

“Not just _you—_ ” She blurted out, embarrassed.

“ _Him_ too, and _you,_ of course.” Elrond’s mind raced, all his senses sparking high. “ _By the Valar,_ Celebrían—” He laughed, breathless. “We have to stop this otherwise we’ll never finish this conversation.”

“ _You_ started it,” she accused, her cheeks still bright pink. “And, my dear,” A fiendish twist curled her mouth, “Don’t forget that there would be _three_ of us— who says we have to pair off each time we wish to find pleasure?”

_You could be in the middle._

He shuddered, very nearly undone.

“Well well,” She chuckled, hiding her face with her hands. “At least we’ve established that we are _very_ open to the sexual nature of this scheme. But, unfortunately, we have one more problem. We have no idea if Ereinion would agree if we asked— just because we would be willing to share in our love does not mean he will.” She grew somber, hands slipping down to twist in the quilt.

Elrond grimaced. “You’re right. We don’t even know if he _could_ love you in the way he loves me— he is rather set in his ways, despite his deep affection for you. It’s more likely that his love cannot, as we say, change colors the way ours can. And if we asked him, and he found that he could not—” Elrond frowned, arousal receding into troubled thoughts. “Then we would have offered him the thing he wants most in this world for a price he cannot pay— dangling the possibility of having me in his face only to snatch it away when he cannot love you as well. That, I think, is the greatest risk. We could wound him very deeply indeed.” His seriousness soured into dread in the pit of his stomach.

Celebrían looked _haunted_ at the prospect. “That would be crueler than I can even imagine. That could actually snap our friendship in half. We must tread carefully.”

“Agreed.” Elrond nodded.

“That is not to say we can’t still talk about the possibility.” Celebrían continued. “Just that we would need a foolproof plan were we to move forward.”

“There too is a further risk if we succeed,” Elrond replied, the dread sliding into a strange, melancholy worry. “What we have here, with just the two of us, will be no more. Our marriage, such as we know it, will dissolve. Would we be willing to give up this happiness in exchange for another?”

There was only a short moment of silence before she nodded, biting her lip. “Only for him would I do such a thing. Only for him.”

“Then,” Elrond’s voice caught. “Would we be willing to try? To ask him? To break open our circle and add another?” his brow furrowed.

She searched his face for a long time. “Yes— at least, that is my initial answer,” she said at last. “And you?”

“Yes,” he replied. “It is as you say: only for him.” And while a great weight lifted off his heart a fizzing, sparking tension filled its place. He giggled, halfway between giddy and hysterical. “Now what?”

“Now we _sleep,”_ She replied, yawning. “No decision is binding before a good, long sleep.”

“Agreed,” Elrond reached out to her and they slipped under the quilt, snuggling up together.

Celebrían soon fell asleep at his side. Elrond stayed awake for awhile yet, watching the moonlight travel up the floor and over the quilt, bathing everything it touched in a new, strange light.

 

~*~

 

The damned ship was not fast enough.

“Olórin, I swear by all the Valar, if you do not make this ship go faster I will jump overboard and swim the rest of the way myself,” Elrond snapped, pacing.

Olórin and Bilbo were relaxing on a few plush lounge chairs on the deck, smoking contentedly.

“My dear Gandalf, tell me, do elves ever learn patience? I would’ve thought they would have to, what with the immortality and all.” Bilbo mused, fruitlessly trying to blow smoke rings in the stiff wind driving them forward.

“Apparently not, my dear Bilbo,” Olórin replied, ignoring Elrond. “In all my time I have never met a patient elf, and I doubt I ever will.”

“Do you hear that my lord? If you learn patience you will have accomplished something no other elf has! I should think that’s a noble goal.” Bilbo teased.

Elrond scowled, leaving the snickering pair to look once more over the prow at the horizon.

They were _so_ close. Sometime before the grey light of dawn Erestor shook him awake from a fitful sleep to tell him that they’d passed the boundary islands and were rounding Tol Eressëa into the bay. Elrond barely managed to get himself into something decent before sprinting to the deck, hair flying out behind him. He wasn’t any better now, robes haphazard over his shoulders and hair simply tied back in a messy bun to keep it from sticking to his face. Erestor disapproved from a distance, but at this moment Elrond couldn’t care less. Wood creaked under his fingers as he squeezed down, knuckles white.

Galadriel was keeping herself together remarkably well but Celeborn kept fidgeting, his fingers braiding and unbraiding the little fringe on his robe. Both looked with an amused affection to their son-in-law, who looked like he was going to actually strike a fire on the wooden deck with his pacing.

Glorfindel made a point of making everything worse _._ Every few minutes he would quip _Do you see something Erestor? Ah, my mistake, it was just a bit of driftwood_ or _We should have been there by now, do you think we’re lost?_ Frodo thought it was hilarious and kept having to slap his hands over his mouth to stop his laughter whenever Elrond glared at them.

“Ah, there!” Glorfindel pointed once more over the prow. “Look!”

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose. “Glorfindel I am _this close_ —”

“No, my lord, _look!”_ Glorfindel grabbed his face and shoved it forward.

The horizon was _wider._

There was _land_ ahead.

“Glorfindel you fool, you shouldn’t have told him. Now he actually will jump overboard.” Erestor came up behind them, hands out as if to snatch Elrond from the edge.

After that Elrond stopped listening to whatever Glorfindel and Frodo said, his whole being pointed like an arrow at that incandescent stretch.

First the snow-capped mountains, still shrouded in early-morning mist, stuttered up over the horizon. Then smaller green hills tumbled down to the tiny white houses below, guarded by a high, spiraling lighthouse. Salt spray stung his eyes as the ship descended down the back of another wave, prow slamming into the trough. Elrond clenched his teeth, ignoring his soaked hair and face. He kept looking for _movement,_ for _people—_ for _her—_

And, low in the back of his mind, a frantic voice wondered if _they_ might be waiting for him— if, after all this time, he could have _them_ back _—_

A few orange bonfires dotted the beach, no bigger than matchstick-glows. And _there,_ in the firelight, little shadows of people flitted down the beach to gather at a long dock stretching over the water like a toothpick. If he squinted he could see two in particular standing at the very edge. His heart lodged in his throat.

Erestor fisted a handful of his robe, tugging him back. “You’re going to fall, my lord.”

“I don’t _care—”_ The two figures. One small and silver, the other tall and wheat-gold. He couldn’t be sure at this distance. He couldn’t be sure. “Erestor, do you _see—”_

“I see, my lord.”

And then they crested the next wave.

And then they were close enough.

And then he could see Celebrían, hands pressed to her mouth, glinting like sunlight hitting the water— and then he could see _Ereinion,_ it must be, it could only be him, the familiar high tail of his hair whipping in the wind— he was _alive,_ by everything holy _he was alive—_

 _Celebrían!_ Elrond called over the water. _My lord! My lord!_ He felt as insubstantial as sea-foam, transformed into a hollow lattice filled with light. Ai, if only he had inherited his mother’s _wings—_ he was falling to _pieces_ without them—

The weak light of dawn grew into something solid, something mithril-bright, the prow of the ship tapped the edge of the dock, and he was _home—_ he tumbled off the deck like a cresting wave into her arms.

Celebrían’s mouth and hands put him back together, bit by bit. “Hello,” she whispered against his lips and _oh, that voice—_

They stayed in the tiny circle of their bodies for a few moments more, murmuring low to each other. She felt so right against him, pressed hip-to-shoulder, the flutter of her dress wrapping around his body— all the aching loneliness of those long, dark days abated.

And then one of the hollows in his chest flared with light. _Ereinion._ Elrond found his presence without even looking, old instincts rising after long disuse.

He kissed Celebrían’s neck. “There’s someone else I need to see,” he whispered, and slipped out of her arms. Erestor stepped forward to greet her and Elrond turned away to find his king.

Ereinion stood a few paces away, back turned to give them privacy. Elrond paused, suddenly feeling the heaving deck of the ship under his feet again. Everything swung off-kilter— his dreams and hopes suddenly standing broad-shouldered in front of him.

“My lord?” he asked, not trusting his own voice.

Ereinion turned, his eyes filled with some overwhelming, indeterminable emotion. “Ereinion, Elrond.” He said, and Elrond’s whole self vibrated with the sound. “Call me Ereinion.”

They stood, frozen. An entire age rose up around them, closing them off from the world.

Ereinion’s eyes were wet— _when had that happened—_ and Elrond _whimpered,_ throwing himself around Ereinion’s neck, holding tight— Ereinion seized him back, gasping into his shoulder, and they _sobbed._

“Ereinion—” Elrond choked down a gulp of air. “You _died,_ and I didn’t know, I didn’t know where you’d _gone—”_ tears stained Ereinion’s shirt, and Elrond dug his hands into that thick hair.

“I know, I know, hush, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” Ereinion hid his eyes against Elrond’s neck, breathing against his collarbone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone, forgive me—”

“It doesn’t matter, you’re back now, you’re _alive,”_ Elrond took a deep, rattling breath into his chest. “You’re alive now. You returned to me.”

“Always,” Ereinion laughed softly, his voice cracking.

Elrond could feel Ereinion breathing, the rise and fall beneath his hands. This wasn’t a dream. The dock was solid beneath his feet and the roar of the sea filled his ears and Ereinion held him close against his chest, warm and true and _real._

“Elrond, I am so proud of you.” Ereinion pulled back, framing Elrond’s face in his hands. “I watched Middle Earth from here through Vairë’s Tapestries. I saw _everything_. Elrond, I am _so proud_.”

Elrond grasped his hands back, squeezing, his smile stretching wide enough to hurt. “I spent long years wishing to hear those words from you, my King,” he said, pressing closer. “Say them again.”

Ereinion chuckled, eyes soft with affection. He ducked to press a kiss to Elrond’s forehead. “I am so proud of you, Elrond.” He hummed against his skin, then softer, almost too soft to be heard, “My unfailing captain— my faithful one.” Then he pulled away to look over the dock. “Where’s Celebrían?”

“You _know_ each other?” Elrond asked, incredulous.

“Of course,” Ereinion looked down, perplexed. “We’re very good friends. She and my sister built your house together and stayed with me while they did so.”

“You _what?_ She—” Elrond spluttered, tugging Ereinion’s sleeve like he was a kid again. He half felt it too, like he was only 15 and tucked away in the safety of Ereinion’s tent for the first time.

“Oh, there she is.” Ereinion looked over to where Celebrían was introducing her mother to another tall, blonde elleth. “Oh dear.”

“What’s wrong?” Elrond followed his gaze.

“Galadriel just met my sister for what I think is the first time. Ah, well, she probably deserves it.” Ereinion mused, rubbing his chin.

“What do you _mean—_ ” Elrond craned his neck, just catching the tail end of a _look of panic_ crossing Galadriel’s face.

“Come, my captain,” Ereinion grasped the back of Elrond’s neck, drawing him close for one last lingering kiss against his hair. “I suspect it will make Galadriel feel better to watch _you_ meet Faelivrin, and besides, she’s eager to see you.”

“Why do you make that sound so dangerous?” Elrond frowned, concerned.

Ereinion only laughed and motioned for him to follow. Elrond did, stepping back into place, a sure shadow at his side.

 

One little hollow in his chest filled with light and dissolved away. There were still five left ( _Estel, Arwen, Elros, Maedhros, Maglor_ ), unlit candles resting in the final two. Maedhros and Maglor, according to Ereinion, were still disembodied in the Halls, resting and recovering all these long ages past. He didn’t know if they would ever return, so great was their sorrow in the end.

Elrond built his shed, left lit candles in the windows of his house at night, and waited.

 

~*~

 

Elrond woke, bleary-eyed and drooling against his pillow. Celebrían was already sitting by the window, a cup of tea steaming in her hand.

“My dear,” Elrond smacked his lips, inching into wakefulness. “Did we make plans last night to _seduce_ Ereinion?”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against the windowpane. “I suppose we did. How do you feel about it now, with the daylight to illuminate your thoughts?”

Elrond nuzzled back into the pillow, thinking. It was always easier in the mornings to gage the balance of his heart, to hear better the concerns and thoughts his body wanted to tell him.

Ereinion. A warmth suffused through his body like ink though water. Even if they didn’t go through with this harebrained scheme, the thought of him always left Elrond feeling content, sure of his place in the world. When he asked his heart and bones if they had any fear, any reservations about the possibility of being with Ereinion and Celebrían both, the reply was a steady no. Yes, anxiety about getting there, about treading careful ground in pursuit of Ereinion’s love, but never in the conclusion. This new thing, this changed _family_ with Ereinion and Celebr—

“ _By the valar,_ Celebrían, what will we tell the _kids?!”_ He jolted up, _oh no the kids—_

She blew on her tea, unperturbed. “I imagine Ereinion will decide how much he wants to reveal and when. But until then, we’ll tell them that “dear Uncle Gil-galad” is now rather more special than before, and that they are grown enough not to ask about it lest we mortify them further. Is this a rather more definite declaration of your intent towards him?”

Elrond snorted, settling down. “I suppose so? You know, Celebrían, the more I think about it the more… inevitable this feels? Not necessarily inevitable that it will work out, but that we would, at some point, have this conversation about him.”

She rose from the window seat, her nightshift translucent in the sunlight. Elrond watched her slight form, illuminated through the shift, sway over the rug. Oh, but she was so lovely—and here she was, an unearthly star coming to sit next to him and kiss his cheek.

“You, know, I think you’re right,” she replied, tucking a wild strand of hair behind his ear. “This feels like a good path for us, if I can say that before we’ve made a definite decision. I know we’ve given a tentative affirmation to this idea, but how much more thought should we give it before we come to a conclusion? I do not think it wise to sit on this for overly long.”

Elrond leaned back against the headboard. “Well, perhaps we could walk through the particulars of our plan— discover if it’s sound in the first place. We voiced some of our fears last night, but there are yet sub-categories of concerns to work through.”

“Shall I get you a filing cabinet?” She took a pillow and fluffed it behind her back to rest.

“A filing cabinet might help,” Elrond chuckled. “But! To begin! Say we were to move forward. What would be our first step?”

Celebrían pursed her lips, tapping her fingers against her cup. “Well, we have to find out if he could love me in that way. As soon as the possibility is certain then we avoid the worst of the possible cruelty— if he declines it will not be because he _can’t_ accept _,_ though he might wish to, but because he _won’t,_ of his own free choice.” She sipped her tea, humming. “Should he refuse there is still some risk in revealing to him that you want him back, but it is lesser, and I actually think the majority of that possible pain has already come to pass. You told him once that he missed an opportunity to love you, should he refuse this arrangement then it will pass once more into the realm of missed opportunities. That tangle of emotions is easier to work out, and is not insurmountable in a friendship.”

“Agreed, wise wife. You have discovered a possible solution to the greatest pitfall. But how will we go about discovering this information?” He reached over to take a sip of her tea.

“I’ll ask him.” She pulled her cup out of his reach, smacking his hand away.

“You’ll _what?_ Just, outright?” Elrond shook his head, bewildered.

She took another calm sip, draining the cup. “Yes, my tactician husband. Sometimes these things are best done quickly and obviously. Though, to be true, when I ask him it’ll be an entirely theoretical question with the practical application added later.”

Elrond nuzzled her cheek with his nose, breathing in the clean scent of her hair. “I see now why Ereinion was wise to get you out of the house. You are _scary._ ”

“I get it from my mother,” She simpered, sugar sweet.

“Speaking of, well, you speaking to him— you should probably be the one to, er, “proposition” him. I fear if we do it together then we’ll startle him, and if I do it alone it’ll look suspicious.” Elrond reached up to disentangle his sleep-tousled hair.

“Leaving all the difficult work to me, hm?” She elbowed him. “I agree with you, however. If he wasn’t skittish about us already this will drive him to it.”

“True enough, my love. And therein lies another condition that must be met before we can move forward: we have to give him a way out. He has to know that he can refuse us and we will not abandon him. Furthermore, he has to know that even if he does initially accept, he could still leave at any time. If this does not work then he must know that we won’t leave his friendship in the aftermath.” Elrond sighed. “I still do not like this talk of him leaving, but he has to know that he _can,_ otherwise he will fear us.”

Celebrían nodded. “Absolutely.”

He pulled out the last of the knots from his hair. “Then, at least for the moment, I can’t think of a reason we shouldn’t try to win his heart.”

They sat there on the bed, a rolling, electric cloud drawing over them like an oncoming thunderstorm. It seemed yesterday the sun set over a familiar Aman and today it rose over a completely new world.

“Ah, Celebrían, I see that our easy courtship was only storing up difficulty for us later on,” he mused, smiling. “What say you, shall we wait a few days and think some more on this, or shall we make a decision?”

“A few days more, I think, but not more than that. Let us rest for a while. Our children are here for a little longer before they gallivant off, let us wait until they leave and then we can come together and talk again. I also feel that, as awkward as it could be, we should see Ereinion again before we finalize this decision. That way we can see him in person and not just in our imagination, and thus measure our plan against the real Ereinion and not just our idea of him.” She set the cup aside, reaching up to help finish one of Elrond’s braids.

Elrond inclined his head to her. “Should we invite him over for dinner, then? Since the twins are here?”

She tied the braid off with a quick twist. “Perfect.”

 

With the twins around it was easy to get caught up in the bustle of the house, the four of them dancing around each other in the kitchen trying to assemble something resembling a decent meal before their guest came. Elladan wept over chopped onions while Elrohir simmered them and crushed garlic in butter, sending their sweet, sultry scent wafting through the whole house. Celebrían set a loaf—rising since last night— in their woodfire oven to bake and Elrond chopped fresh dill to sprinkle over salt-crusted trout. Breezes blowing in from over the mountains rustled through the open window and Elrond felt young, almost as young as he had never felt before. His skin pricked with awareness, searching for the signs of a familiar presence.

As it was, when Ereinion did arrive he did so quietly enough that Elrond didn’t notice he was standing in the threshold to their kitchen until some minutes later, watching their madness with a small, affectionate smile on his lips. Elrond grinned at him over a floury shoulder. _Hello._

Celebrían drew up behind Ereinion, one hand full of fresh mint for tea and the other lightly brushing his arm in a silent greeting. Ereinion turned to her, kissing her cheek in return. Elrond thought he might’ve seen the slightest hesitance in Ereinion’s shoulders, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe he was imagining things.

Elrond now knew that Ereinion’s habit of simply letting himself into their house was something he learned from Celebrían, but the ease with which he moved through their space was something Elrond noted and treasured. Celebrían knew and recognized this as a sort of nesting instinct and teased Elrond, all the while pretending she didn’t feel it as well. Having Ereinion in his house on any day made him feel possessive and affectionate, but today especially that feeling was positively obscene.

Elrond had probably half a dozen deceptive bones in his body and he was going to have to use all of them to get through this evening like a normal person.

 

“No, you’re wrong! _I_ was the one to bring down the troll, not Glorfindel. He only stabbed it in the foot, which was monumentally stupid of him if you ask me. Troll feet are like rocks.” Elladan pointed one firm finger at an indignant Elrohir.

“You _absolutely did not_ bring down that troll, or any other. Glorfindel got the troll, and I got his three orc friends while you dithered around chopping down shadows in the trees.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

The five of them sat in the sunroom, enjoying the heady smell of athelas and mint steaming up from their tea. Ereinion and Celebrían shared the couch, surreptitiously passing a small flask of honeyed liquor between them. Elrond noted that she stuck close to him all evening, consciously or not he couldn’t tell. The two brothers, eyeing each other from opposite sides of the room, bickered like spring sparrows while Elrond, stuck between them, laughed helplessly.

Ereinion tipped another drop from the flask into his tea. “What’s so funny, Elrond?”

“ _I_ know this whole story to be a pack of lies. _Estel_ brought down that troll, and at least two of his orc friends, by standing at the tree line and taking methodical shots with his bow. By the time the two of you,” he gestured to his open-mouthed sons, “Were finished with the last orc, he and Glorfindel were already halfway down the mountain pursuing the Witch King through the vale.”

“You give us _grave_ insult!” Elladan fell back, clutching his heart. “Do you hear that brother? Our father hates us and wants to embarrass us _in front of_ _guests._ ”

“You were so _hung over_ from Thranduil’s visit that you could hardly hold a sword, much less use it.” Elrond shot back. “And Gil-galad is hardly a guest, he’s practically family.” Even as he said it he reeled his voice back in, maintaining a normal tone.

Ereinion, if he noticed anything amiss, didn’t let on. “As family I presume that gives me unfettered access to your liquor cabinet?” He said, taking an appreciative sip of his tea.

“Only if we get access to yours,” Celebrían replied smoothly.

“I’m _royalty,_ ” Ereinion groused, the liquor softening his edges. “Getting anyone into my family means _paperwork_ and if you think that I’m going to do anything of the sort now then you’re sorely mistaken. My liquor cabinet remains locked behind the impenetrable wall of bureaucracy. Your family and pantry, however, are easy enough to access.”

 _Too true._ Elrond just smiled over the rip of his cup, before noticing it was empty. “And that’s my cue to escape. Anyone want more tea?” he said, rising.

Ereinion peered down the neck of the flask. “No more tea, I think, but I’ll join you nonetheless.”

The meandered over to the kitchen, where Ereinion set the kettle back on the hearth to boil. Elrond scooped the last of his crumpled leaves out, ears pricked to listen to Ereinion’s footfalls. He felt a little foolish, following Ereinion’s every move, but if he were honest with himself he’d been doing it for centuries.

His king leaned against the hearth, the low firelight dusting his edges with burnished gold. The stiffness in his movements spoke of a low suspicion— Ereinion was hiding his wounds again, or at least feeling them more keenly now that they were alone. Elrond, for his part, found that his desire to slip beside his King, to cleave into his space, sharpened. He resisted the urge, plucking up a sprig of mint from the counter for his tea.

Elrond stripped leaves from the sprig, crushing their cool, clean scent into the air. From beyond the kitchen he could hear the twins launching into another mostly-true story, this time about Legolas’ first visit to Imladris and who, exactly, had won the archery contest. (Legolas by a landslide) Ereinion snorted at a particularly egregious bluff, reaching up to rub at a thick scar at the tip of his right ear. Elrond’s gut kicked at that familiar motion— they’d buried Ereinion with the cuff and when Elrond had asked him if he wanted a new one Ereinion replied that he was no longer king and therefore Elrond couldn’t give him such a gift anymore. Seeing him touch the scar where it once had been scraped like a match alight along his ribs.

Ereinion took the kettle off the fire and glanced over at him, catching Elrond’s frown. Tilting his shoulders open, he invited him in. Ereinion, Elrond knew, preferred to ask questions with his body instead of his voice. _Pretend everything is normal, will you?_

“If you’ll recall, I gave you that scar because you wouldn’t let me do as I wished. Now you won’t let me give you another gift to fill the one you lost— what kind of scar shall I give you this time?” Elrond stepped forward, still rolling the mint leaves in his fingers.

Ereinion smirked, and Elrond saw some of his tension siphon off his shoulders. “My poor battered skin shall have nothing left to hold itself together.”

Elrond decided to make a bad choice and press further into Ereinion’s space. “How are you, Ereinion? In all the wildness of the evening I haven’t had a chance to ask.”

Ereinion shrugged, tilting back. “I’m alright,” he replied, and left it at that.

A thousand things to say filled the back of his mouth. _Be honest with me. We miss you. I can feel you leaving, don’t leave me again._ All old thoughts, worn as driftwood on the beating shore. He kept silent.

Ereinion gave him a sidelong look and relented. “Elrond. Your thoughts are crowding the room. Speak.”

And perhaps Elrond would have obeyed, save that a loud thump from the sunroom cut him short.

“I’m alright? I’m alright!” Elladan called out.

Ereinion grinned. “I’m glad to see your children inherited all of their father’s grace and fluidity.”

Elrond narrowed his eyes up at him, leaving the fireside to peer into the sunroom. “You’re lucky, my king, that I am _exceedingly_ loyal to you. Those words among my children would mean all-out war for at least three months.”

“I tremble in fear.” He replied, deadpan.

“You should. I have Erestor on my side.” From what Elrond could see Elladan was scooping up dirt from an overturned pot, Celebrían directing from the couch.

“And I have Faelivrin. Who should be trembling now?” Ereinion came to watch beside him. The sharp anxiety of the previous moments faded to background noise.

“Faelivrin is loyal only to my wife, and since my wife is loyal to me, I think I have the upper hand.” Elrond tried to look down his nose at Ereinion and failed.

Ereinion towered over him. “You wife is, at best, a neutral third party.”

Elrond deflated. “You _might_ be right.”

They watched Elladan fumble around (to the great delight of his twin), standing close enough that Elrond would only have to lean a few inches to touch Ereinion’s elbow. Before, he would have, an easy habit. The background noise in his heart rose in pitch, and Elrond waited to see if Ereinion would return to their conversation. He didn’t.

“Ai, it’s getting late,” Ereinion finally replied, looking out the window. “I should go home.”

 _Don’t._ A flash of what it would be like to lock the door, to take him up to their room and take him apart darted across his mind. Truly, if this _didn’t_ work he would have to spend a significant amount of time re-orienting his thoughts. _Come to bed, Ereinion._

“Alright,” is what Elrond said instead. “Would you like to take anything leftover from dinner with you?”

Ereinion shook his head. “No, thank you.” His voice echoed, as if he were already out the door.

Celebrían, whether she heard their conversation or read the hour, rose from the couch to bit him farewell. Within the space of one breath and the next goodbyes were said and Ereinion was gone in the night.

Their family scattered for the evening, Elrond found himself once more tailing behind his wife as they climbed the steps to their room. He reached out, catching the trailing flutter of her dress, smearing the last of the mint oil on her hem. Little twinges of loneliness skittered along the floor of his chest. “My love,” he whispered as they shut the bedroom door behind them. “We should make our decision tonight.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’ll go visit him a couple days and ask.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Am I so obvious?”

“You are to me. I don’t think he noticed anything amiss, beyond your increased prodding into his space.” She turned and cupped his cheek, drawing close. “But if I know you, and I do, then I’d say you’re half in love with him already.”

He pressed into her hand, kissing her wrist. “Celebrían, there’s a chance I’ve been half in love with him for most of my life.”

She grinned, chuckling. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“And you? You hardly left his side.” Elrond could taste salt and herbs on her skin as he opened his mouth against her palm, wanting to be closer to her.

“You noticed?” She pushed her hand back into his hair, tugging.

“Mmm,” he hummed in affirmation. “He’s not as nervous around you.”

“That makes sense.” Her hands sharpened at his scalp and Elrond shivered. “But he might be more nervous if he knew how I watch him, how I follow his steps.” Her voice grew strangely tight, and Elrond caught a glimpse of the vast, glittering sea that was her thoughts. He perceived then that while his affection for Ereinion danced over his spine like a brushfire, hers delved deeper into her heart, like the ocean floor falling through to new, undiscovered caverns.

“You love him.” Elrond mirrored her, burying his hand into her hair.

She nodded. “If you are half in love with him already, then I have surpassed you. Though, to be sure, I give it another twelve hours at most before we are even again— you were always quick to fall.”

“Ah, now we are the ones who are in danger of being broken— our hearts move too quick for our safety.” He brushed the tip of her long, tapered ear with his thumb. “Why wait a few days? Why not go tomorrow?”

She looked away, chewing at the inside of her cheek. In the window the yellow eye of the moon rose above the trees, lighting Ereinion’s walk home. “We have to give him a little space. We have to give him the chance to run away.”


	3. Ereinion Gil-galad

Ereinion

Wind rolled down the mountains, rushing through the pines in a sweet, green tide. Underneath, small scurrying things scattered, hiding themselves in their dens— a stag pounded through the trees, startled by his passing shadow. Stars were few behind the full moon, overpowered by its singular light.

His boots cut through the grass, taking him over the mountain dells to the sea, to his home. The silver cold gaze of the moon threw everything in stark relief, the deep shadows of the woods splintering with shafts of light. There was nothing to fear in these woods, nothing that could harm him, yet he kept a quick pace, skin and scars flaring under his tunic.

_Spring but still cold/ A smattering of new buds/ Who’s that/ Swaddled in/ The uneasy atmosphere/ In silence¹_

Ereinion almost went back. Almost walked up to the front door, slipped in, and when asked replied _it’s too dark_ (even with the moon), _it’s too cold_ (even with the heat from the sun still seeping up through the ground), _I’d like to sleep here tonight_ (even though he wouldn’t get any sleep).

He didn’t go back.

His own home stood on the edge of the sea, looking like a sentinel over the glassy water. The windows, dark but for the reflection of the moon, blinked like great, shimmering eyes as he strode up to unlock the door and slip inside. He didn’t bother lighting a candle, pausing only to shuck off his boots before making his way to his room. Then he lay down, threw an arm over his eyes, and tried to quiet his heart.

His house echoed. After the warmth and glow of Celebrían’s home his house felt like an empty shell, like something a hermit crab left behind and forgot about. The familiar smells—of books, of driftwood, of salt— all settled around him in the silence under his breathing.

Ai, but he was lonely tonight.

Long past were the days he found himself falling asleep with tears in his eyes, hands curled to his breast as if to keep his insides from falling out. Long past were the long, longing nights, daydreaming of impossible futures. The emptiness of his bed became familiar, the desire to draw up close and _hold_ merely a low hum in the background. He had settled into a functional equilibrium here in Aman. He could stand being alone, if barely.

And then, like a fool, _he said it out loud._

_Did you not know that I loved you in Lindon?_

He rolled over, kicking out of his leggings and tugging off his tunic— scars yanking at his movements, skin hot. With any luck, he’d fall asleep quickly and without dreams.

Briefly, he wished Celebrían were here. He wanted to wake from this fitful sleep, wake to find her reading in the library. He wanted to nestle down on his side of the couch, feel her toes burrow under his thigh for warmth.

But though her things still cluttered the second bedroom, she hadn’t slept here in over three months, distracted as she was with Elrond and the twins. Now her family was here, and she lived with them. It was the way of things. In truth, it was rather convenient having two of his most beloved people in one place—made it easy to keep an eye on them, to watch over them though they needed no watching over. Still, the house felt hollow without Celebrían’s soft footfalls in the hall, the feather-light rustle of her dress against the wood floors.

The moon peered through a crack in his curtains and cut a white line over his bare stomach, bisecting him. His thoughts simmered, unable to settle. His hungry pain hunched in the corner of the room.

Ai, he was a foolish old elf. Foolish and heartsick. And he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

 

Morning found him drifting in his underclothes in his little pool, a golden band of light slicing through a thick layer of clouds. The gentle lap of the water against his skin calmed him. The anxious awkwardness of last night dwindled now that he was alone. He ran a thoughtful hand over his breastbone and let his skin slowly prune in the water. He closed his eyes.

A ripple in the water pulled him out of his meditation and he looked up to see a lithe dark-haired elf slipping into the pool. Elladan swam over to where Ereinion floated, loose hair billowing out behind him.

“If you want me to leave I can leave.” He said, drawing up next to him.

“No, please stay.” Ereinion straightened to tread beside him, steadying himself against the rock wall of the pool. “Is there a reason for your visit?”

Elladan shrugged, a wry grimace flickering across his mouth. “I’m feeling restless.”

Ereinion chuckled, his heart lifting to see his unexpected visitor. “At war with your questions again?”

Elladan gave a brief nod, eyes clouding over in thought.

Ereinion leaned his back against the wall, resting his head on the edge. “Did you wish to speak of it, or do you prefer silence?”

Elladan didn’t reply at first. For a moment they paused, watching each other, the gulls waking into the morning air and calling around them. Then Elladan hauled himself up to sit on the lip of the pool, shaking in the cold breeze. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I don’t want to impose on your solitude.”

“You do nothing of the sort. Are you cold?” Ereinion looked up at him.

Elladan huddled in, drawing his shoulders in tight. “Cold feels good.” Goosebumps rose along his pale arms and a great shiver ran once through his body before he stilled.

“Come now, Elladan. Speak your mind.” Ereinion drifted closer, watching the tips of his fingers turn purple in the chill.

Elladan paused, gathering his thoughts. “Sometimes,” he said, glancing down at Ereinion. “I think back on our long days in the snows of the Misty Mountains, hunting down orcs and Nazgûl. We’d dig little dens, like dogs, and curl up for the night only to wake up hardly able to move. The feeling of blood returning to my limbs, one tingling inch at a time, always felt like being reborn, or what I imagine that’s like. We’d all stagger around the campground like newborns, groaning and grumbling at Elrohir or whoever it was whose turn it was to light the campfire— but by midmorning we could leap and run as fast as we ever could. When Arathorn and eventually Estel joined us we’d curl around him instead of by ourselves, to keep him warm. In those moments I felt…” he paused, glancing away out to sea. “I felt as close as I ever did to the dormant part of my heritage, to mankind. Waking to see Estel feel the same as we did, to see us all fumbling around on our feet— those were the times I felt most at home in my body, in my heart. In those moments I could be both man and elf, new to the world once more.”

A sharp wind swept across the beach, chilling the tips of Ereinion’s ears. Elladan simply closed his eyes and gave a small smile, letting it whip his salted hair back.

Ereinion gazed on the troubled elf, still so young to his ancient eyes. Once more that sense of otherness, of strangeness lit up around Elladan’s shoulders. While both his twin and his father had chosen their elven natures, Elladan seemed determined to exist in the in-between, even here in Aman. He looked like a new creature, a new species firmly staking its claim in the world. “I remember seeing you thus once or twice through the Tapestries. Your mother grumbled to no end about your thin cloaks.”

“Did she now? Some things never change.” Elladan laughed.

Ereinion nodded. “She did. But tell me, now that there are no Nazgûl, what is it you hunt?”

Elladan pursed his lips, the amused glint in his eye fading. “I hunt for something to help me feel aligned in my skin again.” He sighed, a deep thing from the center of his chest. “Since we last spoke I believe I have come to be more at peace with my decision, and in truth roaming Aman with Elrohir gives me such joy. I’m beginning to realize that for all that I have given up, I don’t know if I ever could have truly given him up, and being with him gives me peace. But it is as you said, there is that place apart within ourselves, and in that place I still feel as though I walk this immortal land as I did in those first few ice-cold moments— as someone who can’t feel their feet touch the ground, someone who hasn’t yet re-inhabited their body.”

Ereinion nodded. “I understand.” He replied simply.

Elladan examined him. “I think you do. For all that I love my family, I fear they cannot understand me in this. Even now I look at my father and see in him only a desperate thankfulness, the sort that doesn’t understand how or why I chose to sail, only that I very nearly didn’t. You, however, have been an unexpected safe harbor and I thank you for it.”

Ereinion leaned his chin against his arms, crossing them over the lip of the pool. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could be of some help to you,” He gave a wry half-grin, salt tangy on his skin. “You father is one for agonizing glances— I’ve been on the tail end of a few in my lifetime.” He said, more musing than actual reply.

Elladan rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I want to cry every time I walk in the kitchen and see him after a few weeks away. Seeing my parents look _fragile_ is enough to make me want to curl into a little crumbly crisp.” He rubbed his fingers together, crumbling the air away into nothing.

Ereinion muffled his laugh against his arm. “Ai, too true.”

“I had to leave early so he and Mom wouldn’t notice. They would have sent me off with a—” he flailed. “Picnic basket or some such. _Especially_ if they knew I was wandering your way— the only person they fuss over more than me is you.”

“Do they now?” Ereinion’s heart twinged in his chest. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Elladan nodded, emphatic. “I don’t know how you could have missed it. Dad guards that athelas plant in the sunroom like a hawk until you show up and then they grind up half of it for tea. Mom hangs lavender all over your room and Elrohir complains that it seeps through the walls.”

“My room?” Ereinion cocked his head, questioning.

“The seashell room.” Elladan replied.

“I believe that’s the guest room.” Ereinion said, leaning heavier on his arms.

“You could have fooled me. No one else sleeps in there but you— even Glorfindel and Erestor prefer the couch downstairs.” Elladan pulled his hair over his shoulder, twisting it out into a thick rope. “You know, I didn’t expect to find you here so early— I was planning on swimming here alone and then lurking in the countryside deciding on whether I wished to talk with you or not, and whether I wished to speak of the concerns weighing my heart down if I did. I’m glad I found you, though. I don’t know if I would have had enough courage to seek you out.”

Ereinion smiled up at him. “I’m glad you found me too, though should you still desire to roam my countryside feel free to do so.”

Elladan snorted. “I fell you should know by now, Ereinion, that no one in my family has ever needed your permission to roam your grounds or your house.” He paused looking out over the horizon to where the sun once more disappeared behind the clouds. “Pity, you woke up so early and the sunrise is rather grey.”

Ereinion shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“In truth?” Elladan turned back to him, and there was his father’s familiar look of concern flashing across his face.

Ereinion nodded. “It’s of no consequence. Besides, I like these grey mornings.”

“Ereinion.” Elladan looked down at him, brow creasing. Ah, but it seemed many looks ran in the family—there was Celebrían’s worry writ in the lines under his eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“Peace, Elladan.” Ereinion replied, raising a hand to calm him. “I am alright. Simply some old wounds come up to tug at an old heart.”

“Would you tell me of it?” Elladan placed a hand on Ereinion’s arm. “You have been such a soothing presence to me— I would like to return the favor.”

“It’s no favor, Elladan. I like hearing what you have to say and I like being a soothing presence. In truth, you comfort me already— I get reclusive out here on these shores.” Ereinion pulled himself out of the water to sit side-by-side with Elladan, shuddering a little as the cold air hit his wet skin.

“I understand if you do not wish to speak of it, I’ll let you be.” Elladan relented, nudging Ereinion’s shoulder with his own. Ah, but Elrond’s second son had inherited all of Elrond’s fierce, instantaneous devotion. The way he looked at Ereinion now, with his mother’s grey eyes, spoke only of concern and kindness, and of a heart open to understanding. Ereinion marveled at him, so quick to care without reservation.

He sighed. “It is an old wound, as I said, though recently it has risen to the surface more often than not. I believe I made a misstep concerning it that will, perhaps, take awhile to heal.”

Elladan waited for him to continue, silent.

The tide ebbed, drawing water away from the little pool and leaving clams and starfish exposed to the open air. Ereinion debated saying anything further. In truth, it would be unwise, but he was tired and lonely and wanted someone to share his space for a little while.

“I am in love with someone I cannot have,” he said at last. “I made the mistake of telling them.” In his chest the words felt like dropped stones, sinking heavy to the bottom of the pool at their feet.

Elladan drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight. “Are you talking about my mother?” he asked.

Ereinion laughed a little. “No.” He opened his mouth to continue but hesitated. But why not. He was hemorrhaging secrets anyway. “I’m talking about your _father._ ”

“Oh.” Elladan replied. “That’s even worse.”

He chuckled, wry. “You might be right.”

Ereinion let the sound of the curling waves flow back over them, his own thoughts drawing back into the secrecy of his heart. Beside him Elladan shifted, fingers tapping his calf.

“I’m sorry, Ereinion. I wanted to be a comfort to you and now I find I cannot.” His grey eyes watched the water at their feet, pensive.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Ereinion leaned back on his palms, his long hair bushing the sand behind him.

“I am, though. Both for my inability to help and for your loneliness.” His brow creased.

“You _especially_ don’t have to be sorry for that,” Ereinion sighed, the sour tang of the ocean catching in the back of his throat. “In truth, I believe the best of all possible futures has come to pass— your father found a truer mate in Celebrían than he would have found in myself, and besides, I would not have put him through the agony of losing a spouse to war. Who knows what would have happened had he sailed in grief from Middle Earth? So much of the fate of that delicate world hung on your father’s shoulders.”

Elladan waved him off. “It’s folly to think about the what-ifs of Middle Earth. What if you had not died? Perhaps its fate would have rested on you instead.”

“Very well.” He replied. “But I could never have given him children, and for that reason alone it could never have been. As it is, he and your mother are happy, and I am content.”

Elladan glanced sidelong at him, but didn’t push further. “When you said you were in love with my father, in truth, I was surprised. You and Mom always seemed closer than you and Dad— though I never saw you two together in Middle Earth, when he was your captain in Lindon. Thinking back now on how he spoke of you I feel that perhaps my surprise was unwarranted.” Ah, Elladan came at the question he really wanted to ask sideways— Erestor’s influence showing through.

Ereinion thought on his words— on the three of them, on the arc of their lives. “We are rather close,” He replied. “Though perhaps not as close as we once were. It is rather inconvenient when your love is married to your best friend—they become an island apart from you. You learn to pull away and let them be.” He looked down through the water to the bottom of the pool, shadowed in the growing light.

“Dad would be furious with you to hear you speak thus— Mom too.” Elladan frowned, kicking at the water.

“Would they now?” Ereinion said. “It is the truth.”

“I think you’re wrong— at least, they think of it much differently than you do.” His fingers tightened on his knees. “I think you underestimate their love for you— how much they want you to be a part of their lives. All my life I’ve grown up with stories of you, of your friendship with Dad. Now that I’m here and have met you, have seen you friendship with him and Mom as well— I cannot think it is as you say. They _adore_ you.”

At his words a hot, sharp thing spiked through his chest, vicious. Ereinion turned away, jaw tight. He thought he was immune to such responses by now—the desolation of loneliness flattening out into an endless, empty plain rather than cutting, glass-sharp through him. But, in truth, when was the last time he had _not_ felt such barbed, piercing longing?

“I—” he began, hesitant, but his words fell away.

Elladan looked distraught, his face half-buried in his knees. “I’m sorry, Ereinion, and do not chastise me for it. It is a fell fate for one such as you, who deserves all happiness and reward after all you have sacrificed. Could you not love another, and be happy?” He asked, a little desperate.

“Ah, Elladan,” A small, weary smile worked its way to the edge of Ereinion’s mouth. “Well is it that you have inherited your parents’ compassion. No, I don’t think I could. I know no other who is so suited for my heart.” And then a bright, unexpected laugh rose up from his throat. “Listen to me, I’ve grown maudlin in my old age. Ai, but I am a fool. Foolish and old, and very tired. But I thank you— despite the sorrow of this conversation it has helped lance some of the loneliness I feel.”

Elladan looked up at him from his knees, swaying to touch his shoulder gently to Ereinion’s side. “I do not feel as though I have helped. But I will stay with you as long as you like.”

“Thank you, Elladan.” Ereinion looked to the horizon, where the sun was disappearing under another cloudbank. “I think, however, you should return before your parents and brother fret too much, and I should see about getting some real sleep.”

Elladan examined him out of the corner of his eye for a long moment before relenting. “Alright,” he replied, rising. “Would you mind if I returned soon?” He offered a hand to Ereinion.

“Not at all.” He took it, pulling himself up. “Though perhaps next time we could enjoy warm tea inside, instead of drinking saltwater out in the cold.”

Elladan smiled. “Agreed.”

When they parted Ereinion made the climb back up to his cottage while Elladan struck out along the beach. Ereinion watched him for a few moments, his shrinking figure trotting along the waves. Then he went inside and shut the door behind him.

He rinsed the salt out of his hair and off his body with cold water. He rubbed ointment into his tight scars and put on a clean shift. Then he crawled into bed and wept.

 

~*~

 

What many people failed to recognize about ruling a functional state was that a great deal of it wasn’t about the strength of your personality, but about the abnegation of it. You weren’t so much a person as a function, something that made decisions for the good of the realm and the people within it regardless of personal feeling. Of course, there was the personal vision that you followed, but even that was very often a cobbling together of other good visions into one living, piebald thing.

Ereinion understood this. _Scion of Kings—_ yet another in a long line. He sometimes remembered what it was like to be selfish, to think that the crown wouldn’t fall to him or, if it did, it wouldn’t be for a very long time. There was yet time for indulgence, for playing at love, for gambling your heart on useless people and pleasures.

And then Gondolin fell, and he was only sixty, and he knelt very still as they set the crown on his head (silver, they didn’t have time to recover the old one or make a suitable new one) and he gave himself up on the altar of his kingdom.

He realized that friendship would always mean less than _loyalty,_ that love would crumble beneath duty. Relationships with councilors and advisors were to be cultivated, not catered to. His people’s happiness and peace rested on his shoulders, and the crown he wore would not accept anything less than utter devotion to them and their wellbeing. This was fine. He found his pleasure in leading well, in being a bulwark against evil, a strong wall upon which the vines of his people could grow.

And then a young sable-haired elf knelt before him, promising him a thousand priceless things. And Ereinion couldn’t tell him how dangerous this was for the strength of his heart, how if Elrond gave his vow then it would not be he who was bound to the King but the King to him—and even then Ereinion could only half refuse, brushing him off with the promise that he could give something, just not an oath.

He should have known better. When Elrond left the tent the next day, his seal in the King’s ear, Ereinion knew that he was no longer just a King but a simple elf, a love-lost elf with even less to offer than his poorest, lowest subject. For what did he have to give when everything was already given to his kingdom?

Beyond that there was the matter of _taboo._ At least half his councilors had pulled him aside to lecture him like a child about the importance of _heirs,_ of stability—sneering subtly at his distant kinsman’s rescue of a certain fiery-haired cousin. Ereinion listened for the moment, nodding along. Then, behind their backs, he gutted their authority and gave their positions to other, more open-minded elves. Elrond he kept close, kept safe—oh, and he _lived_ for those rare moments at the end of a day when all had gone well and all had gone home and they sat in front of the fire and talked. He knew Elrond didn’t love him, perhaps even outright rejected him without so many words, but those were the nights that he tucked himself into bed late and allowed himself to dream. To dream of a bright, impossible future where maybe Elrond changed his mind. Ereinion would ask him to walk with him in the gardens, and they would find a kind willow tree to shield them away. And there, under the green canopy surrounded by the thick smell of bright, growing things, Ereinion would take himself off the altar and give himself to Elrond, give him anything he asked for.

It was all folly, even then he knew— he was bound to that altar even if Elrond ever desired him— but he kept that hope alive and burning in his chest, feeding it little scraps of himself until, too late, it consumed him whole.

And then war. And then Barad-dûr. And then he was ripped out of his body and deposited here, across an un-crossable sea, alone.

Faelivrin told him that his time in The Halls was relatively short before he was reincarnated. When he woke he found that not a lot had changed. Despite his rest and healing, his life still weighed heavy on him. Ereinion supposed that Mandos thought it would be better for him to rest and heal in a physical body, and so loosed him into the world early. Or, perhaps, the Lord of Souls knew what it was he really wanted— to see Elrond again.

Faelivrin stayed with him those first couple hundred years, constant, steady— helping through nightmares and heartsickness alike. He returned to himself, her hand on his side to guide him.

He still held on to hope of love, but this time he did so while hating himself for it. What kind of person was he to want Elrond to wait, to sacrifice an opportunity at love and happiness for the sake of a dead elf? Even so, when Ereinion saw how Elrond looked at Celebrían that first night he staggered home, his sobs covered by high tide rolling in. What was left for him in this undying land? He was no longer a King, he had no purpose to fall back on. He was just a heartsick elf, foolish enough to love where there would never be any love for him in return. Slowly, as slow as the sea crumbled the shoreline, he came to terms with the inevitable stretch of his solitary years.

He didn’t return to the tapestries for a few months, but knew he couldn’t stay away for long. Heartbreak hadn’t taken his love away from him— he needed to return.

The stab of longing at seeing Elrond again was expected, even if he underestimated its severity. The rush of affection for Celebrían, however, was not. He had already resolved to love her for Elrond’s sake, but he didn’t expect it to be so easy, or to love her for her own sake so soon after. Seeing her became almost as much of a delight as seeing Elrond.

And the heartache didn’t go away, but he did what he knew how to do best: transform himself into something else: someone who wasn’t lost in self pity and jealousy, but someone who took all that inescapable loneliness and kneaded it out into love, real love. It was a selfless endeavor once more, and it felt good to do.

So he watched their family grow and he fell in love with each of them, one by one. Elrohir and Elladan and Arwen. Elrond took to being a father with such a ferocious joy that Ereinion marveled to see it, often foisting his duties off on an increasingly exasperated Erestor and chasing his toddling children up and down the whole of Imladris. It was a rare meeting that didn’t see at least one child perched on his lap, small grey eyes staring down Thranduil or Galadriel or any of the other great heads of state from across Middle Earth. The children themselves were a _delight,_ as quick to laughter as any flock of sparrows.

Ereinion, for his part, felt a special kinship with Celebrían. He thought they might have become great friends had he lived— their even temperaments well suited for each other. She had an incredible inner peace, like a rare dark stone flecked with laughter and an unexpectedly dry wit. He hoped they could get to know each other whenever Elrond and his family chose to sail, and in his looser, softer moments imagined the kinds of tea she would like, what sorts of things he would bake when she came to visit.

In the meantime the seasons turned, the children grew, and Ereinion spent a lot of time wishing that he could sail back over the sea to where he really wanted to be.

And then.

And then Celebrían _disappeared._

Elrond drew on any and every art that he had ever learned to seek her out. The strain nearly snapped him in half, but he held on. The twins went feral, disappearing with Glorfindel and the Dúnedain into the mountains. Arwen sat with Erestor on the balcony overlooking the bridge into Imladris, her hand clenched tight in his and her sweet voice silent.

Days passed. _Months_ passed.

He stayed with her. It was the only thing he could do. Of course it meant nothing to her that an elf she had only briefly known watched over her from across the sea, but still he stayed. He bore witness, even if that witness was hollow and useless.

And then Elrohir stumbled into Imladris, nearly bent double with his mother lashed to his back while Glorfindel and Elladan held off the last of the orc swarm following them. She was nearly unrecognizable, save for the flashes of silver hair under the blood and filth. Crusted scabs and new cuts, hastily patched with athelas, arched over bruised swelling. Her left arm hung at an awkward angle, her shoulder wrenched out of socket. A wound at her side dripped sickly purple blood over Elrohir’s back and legs. She looked at the world through glassy eyes, lips parted with great, rattling gasps.

Elrond swept her away to the Houses of Healing but while they made it just in time to save her life, they could not heal her soul. While cuts and scabs healed her face grew pale, not even brightening for her husband and children. She was only barely able to walk when she sailed.

Ereinion went to her. He cut the sleeves off his best tunic and hemmed them, his ravaged arms stark in the sunlight. He packed his blue quilt—he had not been king for thousands of years, but the seal of his house was still his own and he would shelter her in it. For the first time he was glad to be in Aman, even if it was for such a bitter reason—to offer her comfort where he could.

She was so light in his arms, like a small bird, but her cries shook through him like an earthquake. His own tears fell fast and thick down his face. When the moment came to hand her over to her kin, some dark possessive thing inside him snarled— he hated to see them, dry-eyed and ivory-skinned, surrounding her, suffocating her. Still, they were her kin, and hopefully she would find rest and peace with them. He did not know when he would see her next, but he hoped that he had shown enough of his care that she would eventually visit when she was feeling better.

Then she broke into his house and he felt a measure of peace that he had never before known. Not even with Elrond at his side had he ever felt so settled, so calm. Jars of tea suddenly became her jars as opposed to his, a cushioned chair at the end of the table now hers, and the oaken one across from it, his. He learned his rightful place in the flow of things, curling like a river around the little realities of her presence. Then there was the singular pleasure of giving her a place to nest while her wounds healed— the feeling fluffed his feathers, a little rooster puffed up with pride and satisfaction. She came to _him._ She trusted _him._ He was the one she sought when the aching darkness became too much, his breaths were the ones she matched to return to peace. Every time they went swimming there was a brief moment when she slipped her dress over her head and he saw her— her scars running through her like rivers. In those moments he felt like he wore a crown again, a crown of honor and pride.

It was not until months after she had been living with him that he realized that he hadn’t done it for Elrond, not at all. She was his friend, he loved her not for Elrond but for her own sake, and somehow that was a revelation that should be accompanied with trumpets, with flowers, with singing— and instead he made two cups of tea and sat down on the couch (his side), handed over one mug (her mug), and reveled in the sunrise that was her answering smile.

The day that Elrond sailed and he swept Celebrían up in his arms on the beach, Faelivrin’s laughter hanging in the air like the gulls above— he couldn’t remember ever feeling more happy.

 

~*~

 

Waiting was agony, but _having—_ that was a pain that looped around to pleasure and back into pain again. _Elrond—_

“My lord?” Elrond stood not two paces away, calling to him with that beloved voice— even in dreams he had only grasped the fringes of that voice, _oh_ , all these long years— Ereinion swallowed, the dock shuddering under his feet, the wind cutting through his thin tunic, nipping at his skin with little needle-sharp teeth.

 _My lord?_ His throat worked, caught around the sweet torture of seeing Elrond’s unkempt hair drifting in the wind. “Ereinion, Elrond,” he managed. “Call me Ereinion.”

They stilled, Elrond’s mouth half open around a half-thought reply, Ereinion’s bones freezing solid with uncertainty under his skin— _it has been so long, do you still know me?_

And then Elrond started forward, a little desperate half-step before _throwing_ himself around Ereinion’s neck— and Ereinion sunk down to meet him, folding him against his chest— _I didn’t know, I didn’t know where you’d gone—_ “I know, I know, hush, I’m sorry, _I’m so sorry—”_

“It’s alright, you came back, you came back to _me._ ” Elrond couldn’t stop running his hands over Ereinion’s back, up his neck and through his hair. Such light, quick hands, never still when they could be moving, discovering, and now mapping the all at once new and familiar plane of Ereinion’s back.

“Always,” Ereinion replied, breathless. _Always. Always you._ “Elrond,” he pulled back, hands brushing up his arms to frame his face. Elrond’s citrine-amber eyes, the same color he’d seen so often glinting from Celebrían’s wrist, now glowed up at him, long lashes trembling. “I’m so proud of you,” he said, heart swelling in his chest at Elrond’s returning grin.

“I spent long years wishing to hear those words from you, my King,” Elrond returned, pressing closer, his voice weighed low with time. “Say them again.”

 _My King._ Ereinion bent down and kissed his brow, feeling Elrond sag against his hands. “I am so proud of you, Elrond.” He whispered, tasting the salt on Elrond’s skin against his lips. “My unfailing captain— my faithful one.”

Elrond’s hands clenched in Ereinion’s tunic and he sighed, slipping once more into the lee of his chest. His tangled hair floated up and caught against Ereinion’s wet face, the breeze drying tacky on his skin.

And if Ereinion could stay on the dock with Elrond here, tucked safe against him, he would— but there was someone else who deserved their full share of joy at Elrond’s return. “Where’s Celebrían?”

She stood at the end of the dock with Erestor and Glorfindel, light as sea-foam on the sand. Ereinion heard the slightest hum of delight and desire roll up out of Elrond’s chest and he smiled— all the happiness in the world now theirs to take.

They went to join her and rescue Galadriel from Faelivrin both, Ereinion’s arm slung easy around Elrond’s shoulders while Elrond tucked his around Ereinion’s waist. Celebrían’s face, when she turned to see them, broke into a wide grin.

“Hello, my love.” Celebrían stepped toward them, reaching out to take Elrond’s hand. “Have you yet had your fill of happiness yet?”

He chuckled, pulling away from Ereinion to kiss her cheek. “Not at all, dearest, though I feel I should burst with it.”

“Hello there!” Faelivrin interrupted, striding up behind Celebrían and looking down to Elrond. “You must be Elrond.”

Elrond gaped up at her. “Hello. You must be… Finduilas?”

She laughed, a bright sound to match the breaking waves. “Yes, but call me Faelivrin. Ai, Ereinion,” She reached out to brush Ereinion’s cheek, and for a brief moment he leaned into it, her touch a calming measure against his roaring spirit. “You always did find the good ones. Come Elrond, you must tell me about yourself and my brother’s days as King— you know how he is, wheedling stories out of him is like pulling teeth, but surely _you_ will humor me.” And she whisked a startled-looking Elrond away toward where the others were walking down the beach.

For a brief moment it was just the two of them again, just Ereinion and Celebrían walking down a beach toward their loved ones. She took his arm in both her hands, hiding her face against his shoulder.

“It is as he says, _mellon nîn_. I feel I could burst with it.” She said, eyes lowered, nose brushing his sleeve.

He swept a gentle hand over her hair, placing a kiss on the crown of her head. “Me too,” was the only way he could reply.

When he looked up he saw Elrond standing by himself a few strides away, Faelivrin having released him and gone ahead with the others. He watched them with such an unabashed wonder that Ereinion could scarce decipher its origin.

“Come here, my love,” Celebrían called, even as Ereinion’s own heart echoed her. _Come here, my love._

Elrond did so, hastening to tuck himself in their arms. They enveloped him up against them and he shivered, eyes closed. “I had hoped, Ereinion,” he began, voice hushed in their little circle. “That when I introduced my wife to you that you would love her. Long did I imagine what it would be like, seeing my two dearest companions find friendship and comfort as I had already found. And to see this wish come true! Ai,” The tears fell again. “I am becoming sentimental and saccharine. I missed you both terribly.” And he pressed his face into the crook between their two arms.

Celebrían chuckled, kissing the tip of his flushed ear. “This wish and many others has been granted, dear one, and many more will yet come to pass. Come, my parents will be anxious to see me.”

Elrond lifted his head to smile at her, and for a brief moment Ereinion felt he stood too close, as if he were only a few inches from a bonfire. He pulled back, unsettled, breaking the circle. Elrond and Celebrían, for their part, did not notice anything amiss and turned to walk hand-in hand down the beach to where the others were settling down in a canopied bower, hidden in the dunes.

Ereinion watched them go, pausing on the shore for a brief moment. The gulls dipped and spun overhead, greeting Elwing’s son as he paused to draw Celebrían up in his arms, the hunger in his eyes evident even from this distance. Ereinion looked away, blushing.

Ai, and there it was, the sudden awareness of standing across an un-crossable sea, of being _outside_ with no path in. He let the feeling, already so familiar, seep up through his chest for a few seconds before rolling it up and packing it away. Tiny thorns of the feeling were left behind, but these were manageable and could be ignored for now.

He strode across the beach after them, the incoming tide sliding up under his feet and swallowing his footprints.

 

~*~

 

A few days passed in solitude in his house by the beach. He got used to not speaking, lost in his thoughts. During the day he went down to the Halls, but did not go see the tapestries. Instead he wandered into the fog-bound mysteries, singing softly to the spirits still there. Elrond did this often since his arrival, his sweet voice hung with sadness and longing. Sometimes Fingon wandered in from wherever it was he spent his days and joined him, and whenever Ereinion heard those two voices mingled in the echoing vaults of the caverns he wept.

Ereinion wondered if Maedhros or Maglor could hear him, or any of the other guilt-ridden dead. He hoped so, for his own sake as well as Elrond’s. He thought that maybe his voice, the voice of a king, could ease their hearts a little, maybe draw them up enough to return to the world of the living. It was not good for them to languish so long, with their loved ones growing wan with waiting. When he thoughts about their slumbering spirits hearing him it gave his own heart a little comfort as well.

_The selves we shed/ lift off the line/ as if they own/ a life apart/ from the one we offer./ …/ All is forgiven in water, sun/ and air.²_

The walk home felt longer than it used to. The tide was leaving and sandpipers skittered along in its wake, digging up little crabs and clams with their long black beaks. Up on the cliffs seagulls paused to rest before rising up over the sea. Long golden tails beamed out from the low sun, catching the water and cliffs slantwise. Ereinion felt the salt air clean out the dusty corners of his chest and he sighed, climbing the steps to his house.

He placed his sandy boots by the door. He’d have to wash them soon, and repair the damage done by the water. For now, however, he wanted tea and a comfortable place to rest his feet.

A mug of tea (his mug) sat on the kitchen counter, lukewarm. Had he forgotten about it before he left? He picked it up and glanced around the corner to see a familiar fall of silver hair tumbling over the arm of the couch. He stepped closer and leaned over the back of the couch to see Celebrían sleeping softly, a book folded open over her chest and a half-empty mug sitting on the edge of the low table. A great weight he hadn’t realized he carried lifted from his shoulders and he breathed easier. He sat down at the other edge of the couch, sipping the tea, and picked up a book to read.

Celebrían stirred, lifting her bleary head.

“Peace, Celebrían.” He placed a hand on her foot. “Go back to sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she grumbled, sitting up. “I didn’t mean to drift off in the first place— where were you?”

“The Halls,” he replied, setting the book back down. “I sing to the dead sometimes.”

She gave a small smile. “That’s kind of you,” she said, and wiggled her toes under his thigh.

Even that little gesture made him smile. “I get bored, sometimes,” he shrugged. “And it gives me comfort to sing, even if they can’t hear me.”

An unknown flicker crossed her face and she paused, tapping the rim of her mug.

Ereinion leaned back against the arm of the couch, tucking up his feet beside hers. “Is there a reason for this visit?” he asked, probing.

“Yes and no,” she replied, but didn’t say anything further.

He frowned. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” she waved her hand, brushing off his concern. Her face, however, grew tight and she chewed her lip.

He waited, taking a sip of the now bitter tea.

“I say yes and no,” she finally continued, “Because I’ve missed your company and have no other wish than to enjoy it. But I also have a question to ask you, and now that you are here I don’t know how to ask it.”

Ereinion had spent many years as king and so was unafraid of awkward or disquieting questions. Something in her voice, however, made his spine prickle with an increased awareness. “You don’t have to ask right away,” he said. “Are you staying the night?”

“Probably,” she replied, and gave a wry sort of smile over the rim of her mug. “It’s a rather large question— maybe we won’t sleep for the answering of it.”

 _That_ got his attention. “Are you sure everything’s alright? The twins aren’t causing any trouble?” He thought back to Elladan, his wandering little wolf. Ai, already so possessive.

She shook her head. “No, they’re fine. I think Elladan’s finally beginning to settle in, to his father and brother’s relief.”

Ereinion nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. We talked about it some the other day— he’s still having a hard time but I do not think he regrets his decision anymore.”

“You talked about it?” Her face loosened and she smiled. “Good. I’m glad he found someone to trust.” Trailing off, she glanced away.

“Come now, Celebrían,” Ereinion nudged her foot with his own. “Out with your question.”

“Hm.” She pursed her lips, setting her tea down. He watched her, looking for signs of distress. She seemed melancholy, and above her hung a sort of confusion of thoughts not yet condensed into words.

She took a deep breath and began. “I… I’ve missed you. I feel that since Elrond arrived you have pulled back from our company.” Her eyes were lowered, watching the tea in her hands. “At first I thought you were giving us space to get to know each other again, but after… After you told Elrond the truth of your heart we talked about it. About you. And I realized that maybe I was wrong, that your slight distance from us was widening into a gulf. The way he told it made it sound as if you think of yourself as less, as…” she fumbled for the word. “ _Second_ in our loves,” She spat out, curling over the word in distaste.

Ah, so this was it. His heart grew heavy. “Perhaps not second in the amount of your loves,” he sighed, turning away. “But it is as I told Elrond. My love for him must yield to you— to your union with him.”

“So you pull away? You leave the closeness we once shared?” An edge of anger cut into her voice and he saw her eyes gleam out at him in the low, red sunlight.

“It’s alright,” he replied, almost reaching out to comfort her but pulling back. He didn’t know how to comfort her in this. “Celebrían,” he said, softly. “It’s only right. Your family has returned, and it’s not as if you can live with me anymore.”

“You _are_ my family, Ereinion. And you’re a fool if you think otherwise.” She very nearly snarled at him, a fierce, possessive light rising up in her.

Some crackling, snapping thing strung itself between them. He put down the mug, wrapping his arms around his middle. Outside the sun edged under the horizon, cloaking the room in purple shadows.

“And what would you have me do, Celebrían?” He whispered, desperate. “Live a half-life in your house? I _love_ him. Seeing you together with him rends me in two. While I rejoice in your happiness, you have to know— you have to understand that your joy means loneliness for me. That only one of us can have primacy in his life. And I cannot—” He cut himself off, jaw working.

“I’m sorry.” He looked up to see her curled in on herself, pressing her face to her knees. “I’m so sorry. If you need to go, to even leave our friendship for a time, then do so.” She stared up at him, the last strands of sunlight burnishing her hair. “You are my dearest friend, and I can’t bear seeing you so brokenhearted. I’m sorry, I should have realized earlier, how heavy this is for you. You hide your wounds so well, Ereinion—I thought you were more at peace with your love for him. I see now that you are not, and I beg your forgiveness for all the pain I have given you in my ignorance.”

“Ai, Celebrían—” He reached out his hand to her at last and she took it. “Do not worry for me.” She rolled her eyes, but he continued. “You too are dear to me—I will not leave you for the sake of my old, tired heart. Let me worry about myself and my love, and leave you to enjoy your much-deserved happiness.”

That got an even greater eye-roll. “Stop being a martyr, Ereinion. Friendships are not built on eternal and, might I add, _unnecessary_ sacrifice, but on mutual love and respect. I am not so cruel so as to ignore your sorrows and I am not your subject that you can order me what to do. If Elrond were here perhaps you could tell _him_ , but as it stands I doubt he’d listen to you anyway.” She sighed, but did not let go of his hand. “I suppose it’s useless to ask if you could love another?”

He snorted, grateful for the turn away from darker tones. “Do you know you are the third to ask me such a thing? First Elrond, then Elladan, and now you.” He let her hand go to rub at his forehead, a headache rising between his eyes. The tone might be lighter, but the weight on his heart had grown heavier. “Should I expect Elrohir next?”

“You talked to Elladan about this?” she asked, curious.

“I did,” he chuckled. “It seems your family knows all the shortcuts to my heart, should they seek them. He, like you, was distressed to hear about my unrequited affection and asked if I could love another. I told him what I’ll tell you: I do not think I could. My heart has dug into its ways like a river—it will not change course. When Elrond asked that same question I was a little more open— I said that I wouldn’t go looking for another love, but left open an opportunity for one to arise. That,” he grimaced. “Might’ve been something of a half-lie. I didn’t want to burden him further than I already had, so I gave him a little hope for me. But I love him,” he held up his hands, helpless. “I think you, of all people, understand.”

She gave a noncommittal hum in reply, examining him.

He met her gaze. “Come now, Celebrían. Could you love another? I think not.”

“In truth, I don’t know.” She replied. He cocked his head at her, a little surprised. “In another life, perhaps,” she continued, her face falling strangely blank. “In another life maybe. Maybe I could have loved someone like _you_.”

Something else crawled along the crackling line, something new and unknowable. He felt along it in his mind, trying to discern its origin, but failed.

“What about you?” she continued, breaking him out of his musings. “Could you have loved someone in another life? Perhaps someone like me? Or if someone else like me came into your life, this life, could you love them?”

He paused, considering. “Would we have become the people we are now without Elrond? Would we have come to friendship apart from him? I don’t think so— he is too important to both of us. Maybe we could imagine other possibilities, but that is folly. We have only this life, and conjuring other destinies won’t help us. Maybe I could have loved someone like you in another life— and maybe, if I met someone like you in this life I could change course and love them.” He shrugged. “But I think not— I have never met either your or Elrond’s equal in all my long years, and, to my way of thinking, to find someone _like_ you would be to find only a faded copy of your brilliance.” He paused, regarding her. She stared back at him, her grey eyes flashing like opals. His voice, when he replied, dropped low with affection. “You have been the truest of friends to me, Celebrían— an unexpected companion for an old, reclusive soul. I am not so foolish as to think that perhaps time can’t change us, but I am certain there is none to replace you.”

She smiled at him, a sweet shy thing over the tops of her knees. “Did I ever tell you, Ereinion, that I was on the verge of fading when I came to your house?”

He started, shocked. “No. It was that bad?”

She nodded. “It was. No one could quite tell yet, not even my kin. But I could feel it. This slow, steady siphoning away of my life into the ground. If it got much worse I knew I would have to journey to the Halls and let them care for me there, no matter how much I might want to stay awake here. So I stole little Ulmondil from the stables and rode away to my last hope— and here, with you, I found peace enough to heal.”

Her words enclosed him in an unbearable tightness. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell anyone, though Elrond knew ere I left. Faelivrin too figured it out soon enough, but by that time I was far out of danger and well on my way to health. Though,” A wry half-smile flitted around her lips. “Some of it stayed with me. You’ll notice I sleep more than any elf has a right to. All this to say, Ereinion, that you are irreplaceable to me as well.”

“You honor me,” he replied, but could not think of anything to say beyond that. Again an upswelling of love and pride rose in his heart, again he marveled at this astonishing elf who deigned to call him her friend.

“The honor is all mine,” she returned, and it seemed to him the warm darkness held their words like stars between them. What a strange wonder it was, to find someone like her in the way he did.

“You know, your words remind me of something interesting Elladan said,” he continued, thoughtful. “When I revealed to him that I was in love with someone I could not have, his first thought was that I was in love with you _._ To his limited knowledge we two seemed closer than myself and Elrond.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “I thought it curious at the time.”

She paused, turning some distant thought over behind those grey eyes. “Ereinion,” she began, his name slow on her tongue. “I’m going to ask you that question now.”

He frowned, confused. “You did not ask it before?”

“No. That was merely preamble.” She tucked her legs under her, kneeling on the couch before him.

 _Preamble?_ “Ask away, then.” He replied.

“I will, but promise me you won’t answer until I’m done.” The light drifted out of the window, the blue shadows rising.

“As you wish,” he returned. That strange feeling grew up between them like sprigs of grass, carpeting the couch.

She nodded, as if steeling herself, and began. “Elrond and I, as you know, spoke about you. We had noticed your distance from us, and in truth, it gave us some grief.” Ereinion winced, but she put out a hand to steady him. “Hush. I understand the reason for it, even if I do not like it. But we came together to see if we could discover a way to mitigate your heartache while keeping you close. Surely you understand,” she gave a small, sad smile. “Why we are so possessive of you. The two of us, especially Elrond, have lost so much— he did not know if you would return to him after you died, but now that he has you back he discovers that the closeness he is so thankful for causes you pain. That in and of itself is rather untenable— and I said as much to him. Perhaps before, in Lindon, you could stand it because there was some measure of hope that he might eventually return your feelings. Later, when you and I were here and he was far away we could enjoy our friendship and camaraderie in our mutual longing. But now, now that all three of us are together, something has changed. I would rather acknowledge that change and work to shape it into something good than just let it happen. I’ll admit, it was perhaps not the wisest to approach this whole situation as a _puzzle,_ but you’ll forgive us for our clumsiness.”

Ereinion’s brow tightened and he frowned. “What you say might be true, Celebrían, but—” he grimaced. “This is not something to be fixed. _I_ am not something to be _fixed.”_

“Of course not.” She replied. “But hush, I’m not done. What I meant to say is that I see three paths this change might take, and I want your input on which you desire. I’d rather not blunder around each other—I feel we are all too fragile for that.”

She paused, waiting for his affirmation. “There is wisdom in what you say,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “Though I might not like being so dissected in your conversations.”

“I’m afraid that can’t be helped,” she chuckled. “Though, if it would make you feel better, feel free to so dissect me next time you invite Elrond over for tea.”

“I might,” he grumbled, teasing a little. The tension in the room faded with her words and he reached over to the low table to light a few candles. “You were saying?” he asked.

“Yes, I was getting to that.” Her fingers twisted along the hem of her dress. “As I said, I feel that our relationship with each other is changing— and there are three paths that change might take. At least, I see three options, perhaps you might see more. Feel free to contribute.” She waved her hand, looking away to the flickering candlelight. “The first is that we manage to find a sort of equilibrium with the same level of intimacy we had in the past. I honestly don’t know how likely this is— we’re all so tangled up that I don’t know if we can sustain it in the long term, despite our fierce affection for you. We can’t bear to see you heartbroken, you can’t bear to be so close to us—you see our dilemma. The second option,” She frowned, wincing. “Is that you get some distance from us until you find somewhere you feel like you can settle.”

His throat closed up, sudden and fierce. “Don’t ask me to do that,” He said, strained. “Don’t ask me to leave you.”

“I’m _not,”_ she said, clutching at his wrist. “I’m not. I’m trying to figure out how the three of us can _exist_ together. We keep stumbling in the dark, wounding each other without even knowing it. We have to be honest— we’re a _mess.”_

He sighed. “You’re right. In truth, hearing you say it so plainly brings a measure of despair to my heart. But you said there was a third option?”

He couldn’t be sure in the candlelight, even with his sharp elven eyes, but he thought she blushed. “Yes,” she replied. “The third option is, um,” her voice trailed away.

“Celebrían?” Ereinion leaned forward.

She caught his gaze, pressing her palms flat on her knees. “The third option is that you can have _both of us._ That we break open the circle of our marriage and graft you in.”

The world stuttered to a halt. Distantly Ereinion realized what he must look like, gaping at her with his jaw halfway to the floor. “ _What._ ” Confusion and suspicion blazed through him.

She bit her lip, her eyes lowering away. “I don’t know if you could love anyone else, much less two people at once. But if you could, if you could love _me_ too, then—”

“Then _what_?” he found his voice, ragged. “You would have me as— as an affair? Someone on the side? An _accessory_ to your love?”

“ _No,_ as a _lover,_ As a—” she clenched her jaw. When she continued, it was in a very small voice. “As something like a _husband,_ Ereinion. Our _equal._ ”

“How—” The world spun underneath him. His whole body tensed, his fingernails digging into his palms. He was peripherally aware of his voice splintering around every word. “And Elrond?” He hardly dared ask. “What does he say about this?”

Celebrían huffed. “I would not be here if we weren’t in accord. We just thought it might be better if I brought it up by myself, thinking that you have been skittish around him recently. I see now that was a mistake—perhaps—”

“You mean to say you _want_ me? As a _lover_ , as a— that Elrond, he—” Ereinion snapped his mouth shut before he could speak further, feeling that if he moved even one inch his body would shatter around him.

“Yes. He does. I do too.” But even as she said it, it looked as though she wanted to shove the words back into her mouth.

“I— I don’t know what to say.” He managed at last.

“You don’t have to say anything, Ereinion.” Celebrían crumpled against the back of the couch, her shoulders heavy. “If you wish, we will forget this conversation ever happened. I only ask for forgiveness—I see that this idea has only given you great distress. I did not mean to tease you with foolish nonsense. I fear I _have_ been cruel to you, despite every desire otherwise. Do as you wish, only know that Elrond and I will always love you, and will always desire to keep you close in the circle of our family. Make of that what you will.”

He looked away, heart pounding. “Do not be so quick to throw this conversation away, Celebrían.” His voice felt foreign to his ears, echoing as if from a great distance. “I—I need to think.”

Then he rose from the couch and fled.

 

~*~

 

 Interlude: Celebrían

Celebrían made her slow way home. She did not know where Ereinion had gone, but she had her guesses. The air in her lungs grew thick with regret and guilt. She thought that with their moment of intimacy, of telling each other of their deep friendship, that the conversation could hold strong. That the bonds they built could carry the weight of such—such _madness._ But the threads between them snapped. Ereinion disappeared into the night.

But. _But._ In her heart hung one last shining strand of hope. _Do not be so quick to throw this conversation away._ She grasped it and didn’t let go, even if it burned her hands to do so.

Elrond was waiting for her by the door, leaning against the threshold. He took one look at her face and sighed. “I assume it did not go over well?”

She shrugged, coming to slump against the other side of the doorframe. “It didn’t go as badly as it could have. He’s left, though. I don’t think we’ll see him for some time.” Her heart twisted at her words. Last time he had left it was understandable, a seeking of silence and solace in the face of great pain. Now, however, it was _her_ fault. She felt sick, her stomach roiling.

Elrond nodded, jaw tight. “What happened?”

“Ai, where to begin?” she replied, curling her arms protectively around her middle. “I think I was too hasty. When I brought the possibility of the three of us together he was shocked, more so than I expected. His first thought was that we— or even just I wanted an affair with him.”

He flinched, grimacing. “That _is_ bad.”

“I don’t think it was all a loss,” she continued, taking a deep, calming breath. It didn’t do much to help. “There is merit in discussing the nature of our friendship and where it’s going— I just think that perhaps we might have taken a wrong turn from where we were hoping to be.” Her voice rung hollow in her ears, pantomiming at a confidence and surety she didn’t have.

“So I take it he rejected us outright?” Elrond nudged her toe with his.

She bit the inside of her cheek, chewing. “He didn’t, not _exactly_.” Not that it mattered.

“Oh?” He perked up.

“I don’t hold to too much hope, Elrond.” Reality seeped up through the soles of her feet. She wanted to cry.

But when she looked to Elrond, there was no fear in his eyes. Instead a small, cautious smile played around the corner of his mouth. “We might have more of a hope than you expect,” He said, thoughtful.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “My dear, I think your time on the edge of destruction has addled your sense of balance.”

“Perhaps,” he rubbed his jaw, looking out to the lavender. “You could be right. It could be that we have no hope at all, but I’m inclined to think otherwise. We’ve cast our net wide— I do not think he’ll get away from us so easily.”

“What makes you so sure?” Seeing his smile made her suspicious. Inwardly she shrunk away from him, from his casual hope.

He shrugged. “Call it a feeling. But, for the moment, come here,” he saw the dejection in her face and reached for her. “It’ll work out,” He murmured, wrapping her up in his soft robe. She sniffed, letting the solidness of his chest stand in for the certainty she didn’t have. “I do not think he is as far away from our desire as you fear.” Elrond said, resting his cheek on her head. “And even if he is, I trust that we’ll have enough time to work things out between us. We just have to wait.”

She didn’t believe him, even if somewhere inside herself she might want to.

 

~*~

 

Ereinion

It took Ereinion a month to make it to Faelivrin’s house in the far north.

He ran himself ragged, pushing hard enough that he could barely think before collapsing in whatever soft patch of ground he could find for the night. Sleep came fast then, a quick curtain of exhausted darkness.

It was only in the morning, in the few grey moments before sunrise, that his thoughts could catch up with him. And in those moments a great terror would overwhelm him and he would sprint back up like a startled stag, ever onward towards the mountains.

He knew that if he let his thoughts stay they would gnaw at his bones until he couldn’t stand anymore. He needed to make it to his sister’s before that happened.

North, in the depths of the mountains, many of elves of the first age had taken to living underground again, including many of Faelivrin’s friends from Nargothrond. She disliked caves even now, and instead lived out on the high slopes near where the eagles nested. Ereinion didn’t visit her house as often as she visited his, mostly because her house was very nearly always full with guests. She was a _hub,_ a locus for thousands of elves who, knowingly or unknowingly, thought of her as their queen. It made Ereinion proud to see her thus— an accidental empress of Aman.

Still, he sighed in relief to find her house empty when he arrived. She too was gone, most likely attending some function or another. He left his boots by the door to let her know he was there and made his way up to his room, tucked away in the top corner.

The bed and nightstand were thick with dust, but there was a stack of familiar books on the floor and a vase of slightly wilted flowers by the window overlooking the snow-capped peaks. He hadn’t told her he was coming, and it warmed him to know she still kept a place for him.

He shook out the coverlet and pillow and burrowed under them. Sleep, when it came, was deep and dark.

 

“Hello hello, brother mine.”

Ereinion woke to a body dipping the mattress with its weight. He rolled over to see Faelivrin, a cup of steaming tea in one hand and a pink pastry in the other.

“Good morning,” She said. “You’ve been asleep for awhile.”

“How long?” He mumbled, sitting up and reaching for the tea.

“I arrived home sometime after dark to find you already asleep, and now it’s about an hour after dawn. A goodly sleep indeed— did you not rest on the journey here?” She set the pastry down on the nightstand, reaching out to brush a tangled wisp of hair from his face.

“Not really,” he replied, taking a deep gulp of tea. The blistering heat felt good on his tongue after a month of cold springs.

She paused, regarding him. “I take it this isn’t a casual visit.”

He shook his head, silent.

“Do you want to talk about it now or later?” She laid a hand on his leg, brushing a soothing thumb over the covers.

He made a face, sighing. “Now might be best.”

“I’m listening,” she replied.

He paused for a moment, feeling nothing so much like a child again, his beloved older sister having snuck into his room at night to tell him scary stories. He was suddenly fiercely glad that he had a sister, someone wiser than him to ask all the important questions. “Faelivrin, who do you go to when you need advice?”

“The Eagles, mostly. Gwindor too, when his husband can spare him. You know I’ve never seen anyone with a longer honeymoon period? I’m beginning to think this is what marriage is just _like_ for them.” She laughed. “And, of course, I go to you, and Celebrían when I can make it over. But come now, you’re stalling. If you don’t wish to speak of it now then we can wait. I’ll take you up to see the eagles, if you like.”

“No, it’s alright. I— I’m having trouble putting it into words.” He returned, sipping more of the hot tea.

“Has this got to do with Elrond?” She asked, pressing.

He shrugged. “In part. I… told him. A few months ago.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose into the sandy fringe of her hair. “How’d he take it?”

“As you’d expect him to. He was rather distressed,” he replied.

“For your sake, I presume— he seems to me to be a tender-hearted sort of fellow. I assume he was a little awkward about it?” She nabbed a bite of the pastry before handing it to him. “Here, eat this. You’re looking a little thin.”

“Yes, for my sake.” Ereinion took a bite of the pastry, finding it to be still warm. He chewed slowly, allowing his thoughts to congeal into coherent sentences. “I didn’t tell him on purpose, exactly, but all the same, he knows now. And yes, it was awkward—but not overwhelmingly so.”

Faelivrin gave him a long, even look. “Something tells me that his knowledge of your unrequited love for him isn’t the real problem, is it.”

He looked away, through the window to the mountains. “No. I— well, for some time now my friendship with both of them has waned. Not much, but enough that they noticed.”

She gave a sad half-smile. “You found it hard to be around them?”

He nodded. “It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. Just an increased awareness of everything I couldn’t have.” He breathed deep in his chest, tapping his breastbone. “It was hard to carry, some days.”

Her hand stayed soft and sure on his leg as she waited for him.

All his thoughts tangled around him like a great spider web. They hooked into his skin, stretching and tearing at him until he felt shredded into a thousand bloody slivers. Everything _hurt._

He remembered Celebrían, remembered the despair and guilt in her eyes. He remembered for the first time being unable to bring her peace and comfort, so broken was he within his own thoughts. He remembered running.

 _Like a lover, like a husband._ He wanted to scream, but he didn’t know why.

Ereinion watched his sister’s hand, eyes lowered. “Celebrían came to me about a month ago. As I said, they’d noticed my increased distance and worried for me— but more than that they felt a deep grief because of it. They _missed_ me. So Celebrían came over to talk about it. In her wisdom she understood that things were changing— had already changed— between the three of us. She wanted to figure out a way to keep me close without increasing my heartache.” He grew silent, setting the tea aside.

“I take it you didn’t find a way?” Faelivrin’s face, when he looked up to see it, wrinkled in concern.

“I don’t know. She—” he hid his face in his hands. “I think they want to _marry_ me?”

The golden peal of her laugh shocked him out of his reverie. “ _Marry_ you? The both of them?”

He looked at her, owl-eyed with confusion. “Maybe not that drastic. Admittedly I left before I could get the full details. But the way Celebrían said it— stop _laughing_ — they both _want_ me.”

“Ereinion!” She beamed at him. “It seems your luck in love got _so bad_ that it looped back around into the _best_ luck I’ve ever heard of. By the Valar, both of them!”

He sat back against the pillow, lost in some sort of echoing shock. To hear her laughter—to see not despair but joy at the prospect—

“Ai, forgive me,” She pressed her hand against her mouth, stilling her giggles. “I see you still have troubles. Come, tell me your concerns. Is it that you don’t think you could love Celebrían the way you love Elrond?”

“I—” He snapped his jaw shut, uncertain. Something like hope bloomed in the thorn-strewn thicket of his heart. “But who ever heard of such a thing? Loving Elrond or Celebrían is neither here nor there, but them both? And they—a married couple adding a third to their number? Has such a thing ever happened in all of Arda?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps not, but people said the same when Erestor and Glorfindel wed. What’s to say that our great and illustrious race can’t find a new and better way to love after all these years? And in truth, if anyone were going to discover a better way it would be those two— there is such a wondrous brightness about them.”

Underneath the tentative hope Faelivrin’s laughter brought him rose a dark, terrible fear. “Perhaps.” He grew silent, grasping blindly for the great fear’s name.

She let him be, waiting.

“I _could_ love her.” He said, shocked to find the words sweet and sincere on his tongue. “I could love them _both._ But—” He halted. Every word felt like pulling broken glass through his throat, foreign and sharp. But he spoke the truth— just not a truth he would have ever thought possible.

When she spoke her voice had grown serious and low. “Ereinion, listen to me,” She said, and her hand on his knee became an anchor point, a polar star. “I see in you a hesitance and fear, and no small one at that. Listen to what I think and then decide if I tell true. I think you’ve spent a lot of time telling yourself reasons why your love for Elrond was impossible, or why it would fail. That long-lived habit has, perhaps, evolved into fear. You have been alone nearly all your life, and while much of that was out of necessity, some of it was self-imposed. It is true you wouldn’t have been able to accomplish the great things you did as king if you had followed after Elrond, but you are no longer king. You are no longer alone. If they say they love you and want you, then _believe them._ I have faith the three of you can build a new life, if that is what you desire. If it’s not, then I again have faith that you’ll work to find a new, better way. But Ereinion—” she grasped his hand. “They’re offering you every happiness. _Take it._ It’s yours to have.”

He stared at her, blinking.

And then the long road and the deep, cold nights all caught up to him at once and he buried his face in his arms, weeping.

She curled around him, letting him sob in the shadow of her hair. “Hush now, dear one.” She whispered to him, caressing circles in his back. “Hush now, little brother. I’m here.

He shuddered, gulping down air. “Ai, sister,” he sighed and pressed his eyes to the crook of his elbow. “What am I to _do?”_

“Trust them, I think.” She mused. “I don’t think the road will be an easy one, necessarily, but it will be a good one.”

 _Take it._ Her words rang in his heart like a bell, shaking the eaves of his chest. As if, after all this, he only needed to hear those words. As if he only needed to be given _permission._

“Ai,” She kissed his head, whispering more nonsense comfort words into his hair. “This has been a heavy conversation, if a good one. Let’s put it aside for now, though should you desire to pick it up again I will be here for you. For now, do you need anything? Would you like to rest? Would you like to see the eagles? They’ll be glad to see you again.”

He shook his head, grasping for control of his voice. “I need to get _back.”_

“Of course.” She pulled back, taking his face in her hands to wipe away the sticky trails of his tears. “Here, stay the night tonight to rest and think, and I’ll have everything ready for you in the morning. Sound good?”

He nodded.

“Good. I’ll wander down after you in about a month to see how you’re doing.” She took a second look at his face. “Make that two months,” she said, a wide, mischievous smile creeping across her face. “For now I’ll leave you to get dressed, and perhaps later we _can_ see the eagles, if you’re up for it.” She kissed his brow again, then rose to leave. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready,” and she closed the door behind her.

He watched her go. Then he fell back against the pillow, shielding his eyes with his arms.

_Take it. It’s yours to have._

 

Deep purple swept the stars above his house when he finally returned. The last edges of fall fluttered around his feet in golden piles of leaves, silver now in starlight. He rinsed off in the cold ocean and changed out of his dirty clothes into something soft and clean. Then he packed a small bag with a change of clothes and a few books and locked the door behind him.

Celebrían’s house nestled like a great black bear in the leaves. He paused at the tree line, watching it.

He hadn’t let himself think about what happened next. He only thought about their house, standing in the dark just as it did now. Just the house, with the knowledge behind it that there were _people_ in the house, people waiting for him. He didn’t think he had space in his body for any thought beyond that.

Faelivrin’s wisdom lingered in the back of his mind, but this too he hadn’t thought much about. Wisdom did little to comfort him.

Frost glittered over the clearing and he left a dark velvet path of melted footprints behind him as he walked to the back door. He found it unlocked and he slipped inside. There were only a few pairs of shoes on the mat near the door— the twins must be out. He put his own boots next to Celebrían’s slippers and crept silently upstairs to his ( _his)_ room.

Elladan was right— the last of the lavender hung in little bundles from the bedposts. He crumbled a few buds between his fingers, watching them dust the pillow and thick, heavy comforter. He loosed his hair from its high tail and let it fall down his back, combing it out with his fingers. His heart beat hard in his throat. He lay down and, one by one, took out all his tumbling thoughts.

 _If you could love me, too—_ yes. _Yes_ , a thousand times. He knew the answer ere she asked, but only now, in the safety and secrecy of darkness, did he allow to it to bloom in his mind. He was not one to doubt his heart once it answered a question, and he liked to think he was wise enough to recognize a reply when it appeared. _Could you love me—_ _Yes._ Anything you desire, _yes._

Ai, after the great wonders and trials of all his long years, what a strange thing it was, to come to— _this,_ what was this, exactly? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d give them whatever they wanted— anything, they could have anything, just so long as they accepted what he gave. He didn’t know how to love any other way than this—complete surrender, yielding his tender throat to their command. He could feel his pulse press up against unseen teeth. He waited for the bite, the snap.

In the feather-soft darkness of the room, he felt strung thin, suspended in want and waiting, only a half-head (misheard?) offer of love to keep him from dissolving away like so much lavender. Fear bayed at his heels. Not even the heat and flame of Sauron’s hand had felt like this—then, at the foot of Barad-dûr, there was only the surety of aeglos beside him, the necessity of action in the face of destruction. Now, _now—_ his battered heart, lonely and ill-used, lay in Celebrían and Elrond’s cupped hands, waiting.

Stars wheeled through his window, carrying the night away. Sometime before dawn he fell asleep, worn thin as a blade of grass.

 

~*~

 

Interlude: Elrond

Elrond woke and slumped his way downstairs, still fuzzy-headed with sleep. Celebrían slept on, curled like a seashell in the exact center of their bed. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well in the two months since Ereinion left so he thought he’d wake early and make her some tea. Maybe he could comfort her enough to draw her out of her black thoughts.

He paused at the foot of the steps, arching and cracking his back. Ai, sometimes his half-man blood was _not_ the most useful thing in th—

A pair of extra boots slouched by the door.

A huge grin threatened to split his face in half and he whirled around, hurrying up the steps as quietly as he could. He need not look in the room down the hall—he _knew._

“Celebrían, love,” he whispered, crawling up the bed to nuzzle and kiss her neck.

She blinked narrowly up at him. “Your love I may be, but I don’t recall that giving you the right to _wake me_ before I desire,” she grumbled, pushing him away.

“Oh, but I have to show you the _fish_ I caught—” He teased, sucking a brief dark spot into a bare sliver of her shoulder.

“Fish, Elrond?” she burrowed away from him, hiding her face under her pillow. “What nonsense are you on about now?” She groaned, muffled.

“Mmm-hmm.” He hummed against her back. “A mithril-bright fish, you’ll have to call me _kingfisher_ from now on—”

She bolted upright. “Elrond you _ass—_ he’s here?” her voice wavered, eyes wide.

“His boots are in the hall,” Elrond nodded, sweeping her up against him. She clung to him, quivering. “I think he came in sometime last night,” He said against her hair. “I haven’t seen him yet, I think he’s still asleep.”

When she pulled back to kiss him her face shone brighter than the new sun through their window. “Come on,” was all she said, taking his hand and tiptoeing down the hall.

The huddled like children outside his door, Elrond nearly shoving his entire fist in his mouth to keep himself from laughing for joy. Celebrían, one hand clutched in his robe, slowly, silently pushed open the door.

Ereinion lay on the bed, relaxed asleep as he almost never was awake, a hand pressed gently to his breast. Elrond felt _hungry_ looking at him, relishing the sight of his freckled skin, the slight rise and fall of his chest, the tangle of his wheat-gold hair across the pillow. When he looked to Celebrían she too looked entranced, a pink stain rising in her cheeks.

“Love,” she whispered to him, almost too light to hear. “Let me have a moment with him. We parted poorly, and I would make it right.”

He nodded, kissing her cheek. “Don’t wear him out too much, hmm?” he murmured, low.

She rolled her eyes but the blush deepened, spreading rose-red down her neck. “We haven’t worked anything out— not _yet—”_

“I’ll go make tea,” he grinned, biting his tongue between his teeth, and withdrew.

 

~*~

 

 Ereinion

“Ereinion,”

His eyes opened to the blinding brightness of Celebrían’s hair backlit by the morning sun, and for a moment he just stared, caught in the fluttering hope of her gaze on him.

“Good morning,” she said, her hand gentling over his arm.

He blinked. “Good morning,” he replied, rising up on his elbow.

Silence and uncertainty wove themselves around them, winding up through his ribs. Now the time for actions and decisions had come and he found he knew not what to do, or how to begin to discover a true path. In this light her pale grey eyes glowed, her searching look flaying him open. He swallowed.

She took a deep breath. “Where were you? If, that is, I may ask. Or do you prefer to keep your wanderings and musings to yourself?”

“I went to my sister’s, in the north.” He replied, but did not elaborate further.

Her eyebrows rose in confusion. “Truly? You must be fleet-footed indeed to make it in such time. I don’t suppose the eagles helped you?”

He shrugged. “No, nothing so great as that. I simply needed good council, and after I had that I found I needed to come home.” _Home._ That word floated in the air like a feather between them, dancing this way and that.

“And what did Faelivrin say? Or,” she paused. “You’ve had a long journey, and I don’t wish to bother you with heavy questions this early in the morning. We could speak of it later, if you wish.”

He gave her a wry smile. “Perhaps after breakfast, then.”

“As you wish,” she nodded. “But, if there’s one thing I could ask…”

“Ask away,” he replied, rising to sit next to her. Their knees bumped together.

When next she spoke, her voice stuttered and skipped over itself. “I… I was so worried when you left. I thought I’d made a mistake, or worse, hurt you in some way. But,” Her hand, hesitant and shaking, reached out to brush his cheek. “You’re here now. Here with us. Does—does this mean we get to keep you?”

 _Yes yes please—_ “Yes,” he ducked his head, voice falling quiet and soft. “You may keep me, as you say, in whichever way you wish.”

And she must have understood what he could bring himself to say because _oh,_ her answering _smile—_ blushing, he looked away, the last of his fabled great courage spent on a simple word— _yes._ His bones shook like stalks of wheat.

“I’m sorry I left you so abruptly,” He said, in lieu of meeting her gaze. “Forgive me, I did not mean to distress you.”

She chuckled, a little ragged still. “I don’t blame you, but yes, you’re forgiven.” Her hand drifted down to rest above his galloping chest. “Ai,” she murmured, feeling the beat. “Peace, you have nothing to fear.”

He barked out a laugh, startled. “On the contrary— a heart fears what it does not know, and what does my heart know of this? I am lost under the palms of your hands.” And he lifted his hand to cover hers, though he did not look up.

“Ereinion,” She turned his face back to her and he met her eyes once more, feeling like he might crumble away like chaff. Then she lifted his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to his palm. “If you are lost then we will find you. Trust us. Trust me.”

He huffed out a laugh, still so very unsure. He let his hand linger over her face, brushing the thin skin under her eyes with his thumb. “And what now?”

“We’ll discover the particulars later, I suppose,” she giggled, a little of his nervousness echoing off her. “I admit Elrond and I didn’t exactly plan this far. We simply knew that we wanted to keep you, as it were, and to love you—perhaps rather _differently_ than we had before. Ai, all this was rather straightforward with him— we became friends and lovers in one fell swoop.” An embarrassed smile tugged at her mouth. “Tell me, Ereinion, how exactly does one go about seducing one’s best friend?”

He covered his face in his hands, a little hysterical. “Don’t ask _me,_ I had thousands of years to try and never could figure it out.” His words came easier to him now, as some deep thing inside him remembered how to fall back into Celebrían’s space.

She snickered. “Well it seems we figured it out for you, unless I’m misreading the situation and you don’t intend to take us up on our rather unorthodox proposition.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He returned. Then, all at once, he laughed, his nervous energy now popping like firecrackers along his spine, in his hair, on his _palm—_ “Ai, by the Valar, _what have I done—”_ and he bit the heel of his hand to keep himself from completely falling to pieces.

“Something good, I think.” She said, chuckling along with him. “We’ll have to talk it over with Elrond, anyway.”

He shot her a look. “That sounds like a _threat_ to me. Here I am, barely returned, and already you talk of how to _seduce—”_ He choked, unable to continue along _that_ particular line of thought. “Ai, Celebrían, have mercy on me.”

“As you wish, though I can’t guarantee Elrond will have the same compassion. He always moved rather fast.” She chuckled, leaning against him. “Ai, I missed you.”

He leaned back, his nervousness quieting in her presence. “I missed you too, my dear.” He allowed himself the affectionate pet-name, warming at how she pressed into his arm in response. Saying it felt wrong, somehow, in his mouth—too big for his jaws— but he didn’t regret it. “Speaking of Elrond, where, exactly, is he? Not listening outside the door, I hope.”

She shrugged. “Downstairs, making tea. He told me not to ‘wear you out too much’.”

“He _what—”_ Ereinion coughed, peering down to see an entirely smug grin settle down on Celebrían’s face, apparently there to stay.

“Come now! You’ve had a long journey. Let’s go have some tea with him. He’ll be ever so _glad_ to see you.” She said, smugness slipping further into malicious glee.

He glared at her. “After _all_ we’ve been through, now you throw me to the _wolves—”_

“Peace! Peace, I do no such thing.” She laughed. “Come, Ereinion, he is actually anxious to see you, and I am wanting a pause from our heavy conversation.” And she stood, taking his hand to pull him up behind her.

What else could he do, save follow her? So he padded along, barefoot behind her as she walked out of the room and through the hall. The stairs creaked beneath him as he tugged his tangled hair up into its customary high-tail, attempting to pull himself together.

It was a fruitless endeavor. He stepped off the last stair and looked up to see Elrond watching him from across the kitchen, mug of steaming tea raised halfway to his lips.

His long sable hair hung loose over his shoulders, still tousled from sleep. Deep amber eyes watched him through the wisping steam, a small half-grin curled around the corners of his mouth. He leaned casually against the kitchen counter, robe loosely tied and slipping around the fluted sweep of one elegant collarbone. In this light he looked feline, entirely pleased with his helpless prey. “Good morning, Ereinion.” Elrond said, and by the Valar he was doing this on _purpose._

“Good morning,” Ereinion returned, finding his voice. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Celebrían picking up her mug and slinking out of the room, the traitor.

“I trust you slept well?” Elrond picked up another mug and brought it over to Ereinion, pressing closer into his space.

“Peacefully enough,” Ereinion replied, taking the offered cup. “At least, until your wife woke me.” He leaned against the wall next to the far edge of the counter, hiding the tremors in his legs.

“Hmm,” Elrond smiled, taking a sip of his tea. “To be true, that is my preferred means of waking.”

Ereinion chuckled, letting the tea warm his throat. “It is one of the better ways, yes.”

And here they were, talking as if it were another ordinary day and Elrond were not standing a hair’s-breath away, watching Ereinion with hooded, heated eyes. His gaze lingered. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to _devour_ Ereinion, to lap him up and leave nothing behind, not even bones.

Whatever peace Ereinion regained with Celebrían fled, and in its place the old longing and desire flooded back— to reach out and _touch,_ to _hold—_ but it remained a low hum only, reined in through long years of practice.

But— Elrond had never looked at him like _this,_ with awareness, with _intent—_ habit and self-control cracked, and only a last wall of fear kept his heart from overflowing its bounds. He kept his breathing light and shallow, afraid that even a sigh would betray him.

Elrond apparently felt to such fear and instead angled his body closer, the fringe of his robe bushing the edge of Ereinion’s bare feet. And for this to be _real,_ real and not a _dream_ —“Elrond,” Ereinion watched his amber eyes flicker up, catch.

“Yes?” Elrond replied, nonchalant.

To Ereinion’s ears it seemed another spoke through his mouth, someone with a desperate, shattered voice. “What are you doing?”

Elrond paused, thoughtful. Then, carefully, he took Ereinion’s mug from his hands and reached past him to place their two cups on the kitchen counter. “I was enjoying the sight of you in the morning sunlight, my lord.” He said, as if it were that simple.

“Were you now.” Ereinion missed his mug, his last bastion of safety plucked away, even if his shaking hands would have dropped it soon enough.

“I was,” Elrond replied, leaning closer. “Ereinion—can I kiss you, beloved?”

Ereinion froze. His world shrunk down to a single point. _Beloved._

Elrond blushed, perhaps suddenly aware of his own brazenness. “You don’t need to say—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ereinion choked, his breath caught in his throat.

Elrond’s eyes widened and Ereinion thought that he must not have believed his own words, his own bravery—and then he took Ereinion’s face in his hands and pulled his mouth down to his.

Oh, _oh—_

Frantic hands cupped his face, digging back into his hair and Ereinion _gasped_ — Elrond took his open mouth as an invitation, deepening the kiss while Ereinion shuddered, helpless under him. _Elrond, Elrond, Beloved—_ His mouth _burned,_ sweet and slick and so, so very hot.

 _(Real and not a dream—)_ Ereinion’s clumsy hands found the curve of Elrond’s jaw, unsure even now, but Elrond only tipped his head further into his touch, pressing up against his chest. Elrond hummed softly, pleasure and desire and satisfaction vibrating against Ereinion’s fingertips where they pressed against the pale skin of Elrond’s throat.

“Ereinion, my lord—” he pulled back, flustered and pink at the edges, and Ereinion finally managed to get a gulp of air in edgewise, panting hard. Elrond’s eyes, wide and blown-out, met his and he grinned—and when, even in his wildest fantasies, when had he ever captured the truth of that smile? How could he have ever _known—_

Their hands stayed tangled in each other’s hair, griping hard. “ _Ereinion,_ ” Elrond sighed, returning to nip at Ereinion’s jaw. “Please, let me love you, beloved.”

Ereinion _moaned_ —every secret thing in his heart broken open— and he slumped back against the wall, quaking knees finally bending. Elrond took advantage of the change in height and brushed his lips over Ereinion’s exposed neck, pressing himself up between the vee of his legs. They trembled, flush together.

“My lord, my king,” Elrond murmured, and Ereinion could feel something like a sob catching in his throat. Then, _then—_ Elrond shifted, hips sliding up between his thighs, the ridge of his arousal grinding against the crease of Ereinion’s hip— Ereinion felt his breath punch hard out of him and he gulped, suddenly aware of his cock pressed painful and tight against his leggings— and those _(clever, beautiful)_ hands skated down to tease under the hem of his shift, searching for skin— hands, still warm from holding the hot mug, dusting athelas and mint oil into his skin— when was the last time anyone had ever touched him like this, with such devotion?

Abruptly Elrond dropped to his knees and Ereinion nearly fell over, catching himself on the edge of the counter and Elrond’s shoulder, legs as fragile as a new foal. He looked down and saw Elrond’s hands hovering around the ties to his leggings, feather-light. “May I?” he asked, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

 _Oh, by all that—oh—_ Ereinion nodded once, teeth clenched tight.

And Elrond reached up, carefully undoing the laces, knuckles just barely _touching—_

One of Ereinion’s hands fluttered around Elrond’s shoulders, unable to land while he bit down on the other, almost afraid to watch as Elrond pressed a soft kiss to his thigh, unbearably tender— everything tangled up inside him, stringing between arousal and love and a sort of unidentifiable sadness, catching tight around him like his scars on a cold day.

“Hush, my lord.” Elrond murmured against the seam of Ereinion’s leggings, soothing his hands down his thighs. He caught Ereinion’s hand and pulled it up to his hair, inviting.

And Ereinion wove his hand in that thick fall of hair, tying himself down as Elrond finally tugged his leggings over his thighs and nuzzled against the thin skin stretching over his hipbone, running the pad of his thumb along the underside of his cock. Ereinion jerked into the touch, so alien and strange— and then Elrond wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and licked a long, hot stripe up the length of it.

“ _Elrond—!”_ Ereinion bit down hard on his fist, knees threatening to give.

“Hush, I’ve got you,” Elrond kissed the crown once, lightly, then took him in his mouth.

 _Ah—!_ Ereinion threw his head back hard against the wall, tears tumbling down his face, lost in the inelegant, slick heat— “Elrond, I— I’m—”

And Elrond pulled away, pausing— hand stilling against the base of his cock, thumb smearing slick along the underside. “My lord?”

When Ereinion looked down and saw Elrond gazing back up, a new, intense look in his face— far from the easy seduction of a few minutes ago, now the lines around his eyes sharpened— and Ereinion thought he looked _desperate._ “Elrond?” Ereinion’s hand loosed his hair, falling to brush his cheek.

“Will you let me swear to you now, my King?” Elrond said, and—

Ereinion _came,_ pleasure cutting over to pain— Elrond managed overcome his surprise enough to pump his cock through the last of it, until— “Stop, s-stop, too much—” Ereinion pushed his hand away, finally sliding down the wall to slump on the floor.

When Ereinion finally calmed his breathing enough to open his eyes, he saw Elrond kneeling between his splayed legs, wiping away a thick strand of come from his cheek.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Elrond grimaced, folding his sleeve over his thumb to wipe around his eyes.

The sight of his come splattered over Elrond’s face and chest stole his answer, if he ever had one. “Here, you foolish thing,” Ereinion murmured, and he leaned forward to pull off his shift, balling it up to wipe at Elrond’s face. As the fire of a few moments ago faded, the cold wooden floor under his ass almost hurt. All at once he felt so very small, drained and wrung like a dishrag. His cock looked foreign to him, limp and purple against his thigh— like it had been nailed on to his original body, an ill-thought extra edition. He looked back to Elrond, cleaning the last of the come from his chin. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you,” He said.

“It’s alright,” Elrond shrugged, a soft, fond smile revealing itself under Ereinion’s shift. “I suppose I don’t exactly have the best timing.”

“It was good timing for an ambush, but I take it that’s not what you were after.” Ereinion took the shift and tossed it away. His hands, for lack of a better idea, rested on Elrond’s knees.

“No, not exactly. It seemed like the right time to ask, though I’m questioning my judgment now.” Elrond’s voice trailed off and Ereinion noticed he was staring at his chest, at the red hand of Sauron splashed over him. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know this was here.” He reached out to brush his knuckles against the puckered skin.

“I thought you knew, or that you’d seen it before.” Ereinion’s hands tightened.

“No, I never had a chance.” His voice fell to a whisper. Then he looked up to meet Ereinion’s gaze and clambered up into his lap, sparing a kiss for the upper edges of the scar before draping himself across Ereinion’s chest. “Beloved,” He hid his face in Ereinion’s neck. “Let me swear to you. Please, love.” That desperate edge returned to his voice, muffled against Ereinion’s hair.

It was well that Elrond couldn’t see his face, twisted up as it was. He remained silent, clutching Elrond to himself and biting his lip hard enough to hurt. And here he was, Elrond spread out like a feast on his lap, and he could not find it in himself to— to _accept,_ to reconcile himself with Elrond’s plea. Instead of joy he felt— he felt _overwhelmed._

He felt Elrond’s cock, half-hard and filling, rubbing through the robe against his belly. “I’ll _think_ about it,” Ereinion said, finally. “Here,” he reached down between them, his hands finding in themselves the ability to move despite himself. He slipped under Elrond’s robe to find his cock, circling it loosely. Elrond groaned, arching up into his hand, rubbing against his palm. “Go upstairs and clean up properly,” Ereinion whispered in his ear, skimming the pointed tip with his lips. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

“Alright,” Elrond pulled back and kissed him, then stood, taking the dirty shift with him. He helped Ereinion to his feet and carefully tucked him back in his leggings before disappearing upstairs, a last shy smile lingering in his wake.

Ereinion stood alone in the kitchen. He pressed a hand to his heart, beating so fast, too fast. He did not know how he was going to climb those steps to Elrond’s room, or his room, or whichever room— He turned on his heel. He went to find Celebrían.

She lay on the couch in the sunroom, sipping her tea and reading a book. When she saw him on the threshold she sat up. “Ereinion?” she said, setting aside the tea and the book. A crease formed in her brow. “I thought not to see you till this afternoon. Are you alright?”

He leaned against the doorway, heavy. “I— I don’t know.” He croaked, his throat thick. “I…” he closed his eyes.

“Come here.” She opened her arms to him and he went to her, kneeling at her feet. He let her pull his head into her lap, let her loose his hair from its high tail. He wrapped his arms around her waist and then, creeping slowly over him like the tide, he began to shake.

She bent low over him and caressed his back, her hair hiding him from the room. “Things sounded like they were going well— what changed?” She asked, and kissed his shoulder blade.

He shook his head, hot tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “I am a little overwhelmed,” was all he said.

She hummed in reply, smoothing out his hair along his back. She waited for him to continue.

He swallowed, hands clenching in the thin fabric of her robe. “I feel,” he began, but then decided against continuing.

“Yes?” she pushed, asking him for an answer.

He floundered, trying to gather all the spilling things inside himself and failing. “I—” He began again, trying to form light words around his constricting throat. “I feel that perhaps we’ve left you out. You could join us.”

Her hand tightened in his hair, sharp. “ _No,_ Ereinion.”

He froze. Then the shaking came back over him, tears spilling down into her dress.

“Hush, hush—” She held him close. “Ai, why do I suspect you’re playing the martyr again?” She chided, gentle. “I do not mean to say that I don’t want you, that I don’t want _this,_ but, my love—” Did she just call him her _love?_ “Ai, are you crying?”

He shivered, one huge wave rolling over his body. _My love._ The tears, after falling out in a big rush, began to still.

“Love, dearest— hush. I think, perhaps, you push yourself too hard.” She murmured, low. “I say no because I want to take things a little slower, at least with myself— and I fear you too are finding all this a lot to handle. If you find it’s too much to take then you can refuse, even if just for the moment. We have time. We won’t leave you. Is that what you fear?”

He shook his head. “No, I— I do not doubt your faithfulness, or your love.” He pressed his eyes against her and laughed, wet and cracked. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I had a hard time with Elrond when he returned.” She said, simple as anything.

“Really?” he rose to face her, and she took his hands in hers.

She nodded. “Absolutely. We hadn’t made love since before my capture, and once he returned I found that my limits were much further back than before.” And Ereinion marveled then, for a brief moment, at how far she’d come, how easily she talked of such things now.

“How—?” Under her frank, easy gaze, his breathing evened. The vicious static sparking on his skin receded.

“Elrond likes to _bite,_ as I’m sure you’ll discover soon enough. I used to like it too. Now I don’t.” She gave a wry smile. “I’m sure that with you around he’ll be able to indulge again— I apologize in advance, he has sharp teeth and a possessive nature. But Ereinion, listen,” She leaned forward, clasping his hands tight. “If you don’t want anything beyond friendship for right now, that’s fine. We’ll work our way up. You don’t have to give us everything we ask just because we asked.”

He sighed, sitting back on his heels. “But I _do._ I want— I want so badly I could snap in half with longing. And to come to _this—_ By the Valar, _Elrond_ is waiting for _me,_ waiting upstairs in a real bed for me to come and—and—” He wiped his face. “In all my long years I never thought such a thing would— _could_ happen. I was fully prepared to be alone, my love forever lost to me. But—” and there, _there—_ finally, that splinter of joy, working its way into his skin. He looked up to Celebrían, her silver eyes catching green from the leaves. “And _you—”_ And he reached up to her face, tracing along one jagged line running from her forehead down through her lip. “To discover love at last, at long last— _Celebrían—”_ he whispered, and without thinking he leaned up to kiss her.

She kept it soft, sweet— but when she pulled back he caught the tail end of a gasp, and he could see how her eyes widened, lashes trembling.

“My earlier offer was not in vain.” He said, pressing a second kiss to the edge of her mouth.

“You’re feeling better, then?” She asked, sharp gaze searching his face. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He nodded, his face dry. Her words soothed down his back like a hand against bristled fur.

“Ai, my answer is still no, for the time being.” She sighed, letting any further questions she had for him drop. He found he was grateful for that. “However tempting that offer is. While my husband is rather impatient and impetuous, I find that I am no longer so quick to passion. Another unfortunate side-effect.” She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, weaving her fingers back into his hair. “You’ll find, however,” and her eyes glinted sly, her hand tightening. “That whatever time is lost in fleeting encounters is made up in _planning._ Might I suggest, beloved, that you get a good night’s sleep tonight? I think you’ll want to be well-rested for tomorrow.”

He blushed. “As you wish.”

“Ereinion?” A voice called from the stairs.

“Ah, here he is. In here, love!” She called, waving Elrond in. “He thought I was feeling neglected.”

Elrond came to sit down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?”

Ereinion took in his loose robe, the few white spots staining the collar. Elrond’s cheeks still held a high pink blush, his ears a blazing red. He leaned carelessly against the back of the couch, but Ereinion could read a line of tension in his posture.

Ereinion knelt before the two of them and oh, that felt _right_. A bad headache tapped at the back of his skull, but he could already recognize his heart settling into security, if not all the way into peace. Celebrían’s hand in his hair felt like a path, an opening into his heart for all the joy and anticipation to come flooding in and he _purred,_ pushing into it. “Elrond, _love_ ,” And _oh—_ after thousands of years of only saying that word in his head, now to finally feel it form on his tongue— he ran his hand up under Elrond’s robe, letting it fall away over his thighs.

Celebrían followed his gaze, looking down to where Elrond’s flushed cock lay, leaking against his belly. “It seems you’ve been neglected as well, my dear.” She licked her lips. “We can’t have that, can we, Ereinion?”

And he felt a slow, sure pressure from her hand, pushing him forward. He glanced up at her, catching the command in her eyes. He obeyed, and leaned down to lap up the droplet of precome beading at the tip of Elrond’s cock.

He heard a sharp gasp and Elrond bucked up into his mouth, Celebrían’s hand grasping his hair tight. Ereinion moaned, licking up the underside before swallowing him down, sucking hard. Elrond’s hips stuttered, pulsing up in desperate half-thrusts, but Ereinion held him down with one hand—digging hard enough to bruise into his hipbone. This, _this_ felt _so good_ , the weight of Elrond’s cock on his tongue, Celebrían’s hand tugging hard enough to hurt at his hair—

“Ereinion— love, please _, please—”_ Elrond was so quick to plead, to _beg._ Ereinion grinned, pleased, and ran his tongue flat against the crown of his cock. Maybe later he’d play with Elrond more, see how far he could push before begging became wordless, maybe he and Celebrían _both_ could—

Precome spurted into his mouth and he let it run over his tongue, salty and bitter. Elrond twitched against the roof of his mouth, helpless sounds rising in pitch. Out of the corner of his eye Ereinion saw Celebrían, her lips parted and her breast rising and falling fast— she curled tight against Elrond’s side to watch, entranced. Her hand clenched in his hair.

Ereinion took one final breath and drew the full length of Elrond’s cock into his mouth and throat, nuzzling up against the light thatch of hair at the base. He closed his eyes and swallowed. He felt more than heard Elrond cry out, come flooding his mouth—he caught as much as he could, too sharp on his tongue— before finally pulling back, coughing, to wipe a few stray smears from his lips.

Elrond had one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving, while Celebrían finally let go of his hair to cover her face, sunset red blazing her skin. Ereinion felt loose, released somehow.

“How—” Elrond managed. “How are you _that good_.”

Ereinion rolled his eyes, tucking his legs under him to lean against Elrond’s knees. “I know it’s hard for you to imagine but there was, in fact, a time I wasn’t in love with you. I had a few lovers, before.”

“Really?” Elrond cocked his head, a slight slur still evident in his voice.

“Of course.” Ereinion shrugged, propping an arm over Elrond’s thighs and resting his head against it. “I was a prince. There were quite a few suitors, and others who wanted me besides. I’m sure you know what it’s like.”

Celebrían nodded along, but Elrond only gaped at the two of them, owl-eyed. “I really don’t. What do you mean, “what it’s like?” I was a _virgin_ when I married.”

Celebrían giggled. “So was I, but not for lack of trying. Ereinion, I think you’re forgetting two important details: one, my mother is Galadriel, and not even the most reckless young stag was willing to risk that. The other is that Elrond’s guardian is Erestor, and while he is not as outwardly intimidating he had his ways of _eliminating_ any who dared threaten his beloved charge.”

Ereinion snorted. “Of course. And you were a _virgin?_ I knew of at least seven young courtiers who wanted you at any given time, though, to be sure, only about half of them wanted you for yourself, while the others only desired you for the fact that you were the only one to have unlimited access to my side.”

Elrond huffed, slumping back. “I’m beginning to think that my youth could have been much more exciting, but for the meddling of various elders. _Don’t_ think you’re innocent in this,” He pointed a still-shaking hand at Ereinion’s nose. “If Erestor chased away suitors then you most certainly did as well.”

Ereinion chuckled, rubbing his sore jaw. “Peace, peace. I only chased away the bad ones. And, I might add, for the better— who could ever hope to match Celebrían?”

“You,” Elrond leaned forward and drew Ereinion’s face to his. “You could, you fool.” He kissed him. Ereinion could taste the lingering bitterness on Elrond’s tongue, and he knew Elrond could taste the same on him. He smiled into the kiss, sighing.

A low grumble from Elrond’s stomach broke the moment. “Ai,” he said, pulling back. “We haven’t had breakfast yet. Come, I’ll make pancakes.” And he rose to go to the kitchen. Ereinion and Celebrían watched, noting the robe rippling up to reveal a plush ass.

“He’s doing that on purpose,” Celebrían grumbled.

“He’s going to be insufferable, isn’t he?” Ereinion turned to her, trying to sound disapproving but landing somewhere near delighted. Was this what his life was going to look like now? Waking to Celebrían calling him _love_ , sucking Elrond’s cock in the morning before breakfast? His heart skipped, incredulous.

She met his gaze and smirked. “He absolutely is, but I trust you and I shall come up with some way of making him pay for it.” Then she stood, drawing him up next to her, keeping a soft hand on his side to steady him. “Wash your mouth out Ereinion, and then I want you to give me a kiss.” She said, her eyes alight with laughter and warmth. Then she turned towards the kitchen, tailing her husband over the threshold.

For a moment Ereinion watched, her hair wisping out like fog behind her. Then he followed them into the kitchen.

 

They settled into something approaching normal, eating breakfast before splitting to their own tasks. The only recognizable difference, for now, was all the _touching,_ constant little kisses or pets on every convenient inch of Ereinion’s body. It was (maybe) becoming a good thing to be touched, though it startled him more often than not. Static electricity clung to his skin all day, snapping up at him when he least expected it— quiet moments between pages as he read, or when he looked up to find that Elrond and Celebrían had wandered into the next room. His headache lingered, tapping around his head until night fell and the taps became knocks. Elrond invited him to their bed but he declined, turning away to the seashell room.

He closed the door, lay down under the covers, and fell asleep.

 

The last summer-time stars were dipping below the horizon when his headache woke him. For a few moments he stared at the ceiling, mind blank but for a low throbbing wearing circles under his eyes. Then the day before came rushing back, flooding through him like a riptide. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes to stop the agonizing flow of memories and emotions, again feeling some great hand twisting him, wringing him out.

Perhaps an hour passed as he lay, jaw clenched. Then, finally, he surrendered. He threw off the hot, constricting coverlet and rose, stumbling through the hallway to Elrond and Celebrían’s room.

The two of them lay together, Elrond flat out on his belly with Celebrían curled to the side. Ereinion paused, watching the easy rise and fall of their twin breathing. Then, softly, he crawled up the bed and lay between them.

“Ereinion?” Elrond blinked half-awake, sleep catching at his edges. He snuggled in closer, tucking himself the lee of Ereinion’s chest. “Everything alright, love?”

Ereinion felt Celebrían’s arm snake around his middle as she folded herself around him, forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. Her hand slipped under his shift, tracing his scar.

“Ereinion?” Elrond looked up.

Ereinion sighed, relenting. He closed his eyes. “I don’t think I’m built for such happiness,” he said, and that was the closest he could come to the truth of it without breaking.

There was a pause. Celebrían’s hand tightened on his chest. Ereinion felt Elrond’s mouth brush up against his jaw, seeking.

“My love,” Elrond whispered, low. “My beloved King, my love—” and he threaded his legs between Ereinion’s, cleaving close. “Be at peace, my lord. We will watch over you. Whatever you need, whatever you ask, we will give you.”

His heartbeat kicked up. He felt his breath stutter. Celebrían’s hand pressed against his chest. “Ereinion,” She said, her chest to his back. “Breathe with me.”

_One, two…_

And sometime around dawn he fell back asleep, Elrond’s lips soft at his collarbone and Celebrían’s toes brushing his calf. And when he slept he did so deeply, finding at last a feather-light sliver of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Who's That by Ana Božičević  
> 2\. Laundry by Ruth Moose


	4. All

Celebrían

Celebrían woke to find a rather embarrassing smear of drool staining Ereinion’s shift from where she had pressed her face against his back. His hair tangled around her head like dandelion fluff. She smacked her lips, trying to scrape some of his long blonde hairs off her tongue.

A chuckle hummed on her skin through Ereinion’s back. “—do you _mean_ you asked _Bilbo Baggins_ for love advice?” She heard him murmur, and felt his back arch as Elrond slipped an arm around him.

“I don’t want to hear any of your _sass_ this early in the morning, Ereinion Gil-galad.” Elrond replied, his voice scratchy with sleep. “Bilbo Baggins is quite a sensible hobbit, and besides, his advice is _clearly_ good enough for you, oh high elven king.”

“I concede the point, even if said advice is a half-step from madness.” There was a rustle of blankets, a pop of a joint stretching. “You know my sister laughed at me when I told her? “Oh yes Faelivrin, do you remember I told you I’m madly in love with that foolish captain of mine? Yes, well, not only does he love me back but his _wife_ does as well.” Certainly made for an interesting morning. ” Ereinion’s shoulder shifted, and Celebrían could imagine him reaching out, tucking Elrond’s hair behind his ear. Ereinion sounded better this morning, more at ease, but Celebrían found herself listening close to the timbre of his words, searching for distress. She found none, but kept her ears pricked nonetheless.

“I’m sure she did, and rightfully so,” Elrond replied. “You know, I think I’m lucky you died when you did. Otherwise all my harebrained schemes— which _worked,_ by the way— would have been cut down before they sprouted into all their glorious perfection.” Elrond groused prettily enough but Celebrían could hear the hitch in his breath, the hiss of sheets shifting under his body. The soft hum of their conversation drifted through the room, sweet and low like honey in the early yellow sunlight.

Ereinion scoffed. “ _Barely_ worked, dearest, though the Fellowship certainly outdoes them all. You know, I’ll never understand why you didn’t just send Glorfindel with them. He might’ve evened their odds some.”

“Perhaps,” Elrond mused, his voice growing distant with memory. “In truth, the reason was twofold. For the first, Glorfindel did approach me after the council asking to accompany them. I spoke with Olorín about it and he didn’t seem to think it was necessary, trusting that whatever Glorfindel could have brought to the table Estel could equally bring. That, and Olorín thought Sauron was keeping a special eye, as it were, on Glorfindel. He would be too conspicuous for a stealth mission. I didn’t quite think that to be the truth, but ultimately I deferred to his judgment on the matter. The second was a rather more selfish motive. As I stood talking with Glorfindel in the hallway, Erestor passed us by.” Elrond paused. When he resumed it was with a sad, heavy quality undercutting his voice. “I caught a glimpse of his face as Glorfindel told me of his request. Quite frankly, I would rather not see that look on anyone’s face ever again, much less someone I hold very dear. I resolved then that even if Olorín wanted Glorfindel for the Fellowship that I would find some excuse to keep him in Imladris. Perhaps it was a foolish choice, but the Fellowship only ever had a fool’s hope to begin with. Either way, in the face of what I knew was going to be an unbearable sacrifice for all involved, I chose to shield Erestor from the brunt of it. Make of that what you will.”

“Ai, my love.” Ereinion curled closer to Elrond. “Ever did you have a tender heart.”

Celebrían heard the soft sound of a kiss and Elrond’s answering hum. She smiled and leaned against Ereinion’s back, tucking her knees behind his.

“Ah, I think she wakes,” She heard Ereinion say. “Celebrían?”

“I’m awake,” she replied.

Ereinion rolled over to his back and she resettled herself in the crook of his arm, pillowing her head on his shoulder. “Good morning, love.” He said, and his grey eyes were clear and open. Words of affection were coming easier to him, she noticed. _Good morning, love._ Her skin tingled with the words.

“Good morning,” she returned, and leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Elrond snuggled up to his other side. “Tell me, Ereinion, What’s it like, waking up to find yourself sandwiched between two elves who adore you?” He grinned, his tongue peeking out between his teeth.

“Well,” Ereinion smirked. “Since this isn’t the _first_ time this has ever happened to me— Peace!” He shoved Elrond away, who was busy trying to smother him with a pillow. “I lie, I lie.”

Celebrían snickered. Elrond shot a sharp glance at her, but settled back down on Ereinion’s chest, propping his chin on the back of his hand.

“In truth?” Ereinion quieted, staring up to the ceiling in thought. “I hardly know how to answer. Ask me again tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Mmm. I will.” Elrond sighed and sank back down.

Celebrían, meanwhile, could feel Ereinion’s fingertips tracing down her spine, seeking. “Elrond, beloved,” She said, her voice growing low. “I don’t suppose you could make us breakfast?”

Elrond looked up at her, then at Ereinion. Then he smiled, slow and easy. “Of course,” he purred, and nipped Ereinion’s throat before climbing over his chest to kiss Celebrían hard on the mouth. “Breakfast should be ready, oh, say, mid-afternoon?” He leapt off the bed before Celebrían could pinch him, disappearing out the door with a wink.

“I have plans for that mouth, impertinent brat.” Ereinion muttered to himself, laughing.

Celebrían watched him for a moment, taking in his wheat-bright hair, his smile. He looked good, _very_ good— and something about him seemed a little less lean, a little filled out at the edges. The line between his brows was softening, if gradually. “Ereinion.” She murmured, slipping her leg around his.

He looked at her and between one breath and the next his gaze kindled, striking hot. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite get the good night’s rest you asked for,” he said, turning to her. “You’ll have to be gentle with me.”

“No promises,” she replied, reaching down to tug up his shift. “First, clothes.”

He obliged, sitting up to draw his shift over his head. She lay back to watch, shamelessly raking her gaze down his broad back, following it down to a lean waist. Retirement hadn’t softened the hard cut of muscles, long honed over the years of his kingship, and his vivid scars only served to make him more beautiful in her eyes. She reached out to trace down the long channel of his spine, brushing the little dimples of his hipbones. He actually _trembled_ at her touch, a visible shiver running up his back. Ai, he shook more than a sparrow in winter these days.

“Ticklish?” She asked, grinning.

“No, just,” he looked back to her, flushed. “It feels good.”

She paused. Ereinion sat on the bed, strangely bashful, his fingers fiddling with the shift balled up in his lap. He waited, she knew, for her to make the first move.

“Change of plans,” she said, rising from the bed. “I want to have you out amongst the flowers before the weather gets too cold.” She held out her hand and he took it, and together they snuck down the stairs and out the back door.

The sun glimmered over the little valley, catching gold on all the autumn glory. Frost still clung to the ground in the shadows, leaving odd rectangles of cool blue glitter cleaving close to golden-green streaks of grass. The air pricked along her skin, cool and crisp, and underneath her thin shift she felt goosebumps rising. She could sense Ereinion behind her, sense his gaze on her. The distance between them, bridged only by their clasped hands, felt like it was _breathing,_ like it lived with a thousand needs and hungers.

Ereinion followed along behind her as she led him to a thick patch of grass by the stream. She could hear him humming to himself, something soft and melancholy. The whisper of their bare feet through the grass, the dew seeping up into her hem— overhead a crow crackled in the trees.

She sat down on the bank of the stream and rested her feet on a slab of rock jutting out of the water. Ereinion sat beside her, warm and solid, and she leaned against his bare arm.

Still he waited, following her lead.

She leaned over to catch his gaze, watching the reflection of the water play about his features. “We’re not going to fast for you, are we?” she asked.

He paused. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“That’s an unhelpful answer.” She nudged his shoulder.

“Ai,” he chuckled. “I suppose so.”

The gurgling of the stream grew up between them, winding its way through their thoughts. The cool grass beneath her chilled her skin and she leaned against him, appreciating the solid warmth of his body.

“I… want you _so badly._ ” He whispered at last. “But longing isn’t unfamiliar to me. But for _you,_ for _Elrond_ to want _me_ is something else entirely. I— I don’t know how to receive what I’ve been given. I find I waver immensely between how easy it is to be in your presence and how difficult I find it to be… to be loved.” His hands kneaded the ground next to her, tearing up little bits of grass. “One moment I’m lying in bed between you and Elrond, more at peace than I’ve ever felt in my life. Then next I’m overwhelmed with fear, terrified that I’m dreaming—or, perhaps more accurately, that I’m fated for loneliness, that even in your presence I will always feel alone, unable to reach out and touch you with my heart as well as my body.”

She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, wrapping her hands around his arm. She stayed silent, knowing that there were no words to soothe what he had just said.

He rested his chin against her head. “So no, you’re not going to fast for me. Just— forgive me if I become… what was it you said? Skittish? Yes, skittish. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she murmured. “Would that I could fight this battle for you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Elrond said much the same thing this morning. The two of you have remarkably similar habits when it comes to concern.”

“Do we?” She chuckled, pressing a light kiss to his bare skin. “I’m not surprised. But you spoke of this already with him?”

“A little. Not as much as we’ve said here, but the heart is the same.” He rubbed his jaw, a wry half-smile on his features. “I think he’s slightly disappointed that our union didn’t immediately ameliorate my heartbreak.”

She grinned, laughing to herself. “That sounds like him. He can’t bear to see you upset. In truth, I think he feels a small amount of guilt for all the years you longed in vain. He loves you deeply, and wants so much to make you happy.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Ereinion replied, his voice cut through with wonder.

She nodded, brushing his shoulder with her cheek. “I do too, you know.”

He leaned over to nuzzle her hair, humming low in reply.

They sat there for a few moments longer, leaning against each other in the growing light. Overhead the leaves rattled against each other like a crowd of clapping hands, or pebbles rolling in the surf. The stone beneath her feet grew warm with sunlight and the smell of dying, drying leaves filled her nose.

Ereinion was such a different _presence_ when compared to Elrond. A presence she was used to—they did not live together for centuries without becoming accustomed to one another—but now, with the two of them to compare side by side—

Ai, Elrond Peredhel. Her sable-haired, sharp-eyed sparrow spirit. So quick to affection, and afterwards so constant in love. A bright, mischievous soul, perhaps the brightest in all Middle Earth. Her husband, the father of her children, her first great love.

First. And who could have known there would be a second to come after?

She glanced over to Ereinion and watched the play of sunlight over his shoulders. For not the first time she was struck with a fierce gratitude. She had not believed, like Elrond, that Ereinion would return. She expected a year, at the very _least,_ before she saw him again, and the prospect crushed her. She cursed her foolishness, her naiveté, whichever part of her it was that let her think she could have him for the asking. It was only after she counted him lost that she realized how deeply and how long she had loved the kind, gentle elf who, up until that point, had always caught her when she fell.

Perhaps she hadn’t recognized the truth, the truth that she was _in love,_ because it felt so different than her love for Elrond. Where Elrond was movement and gesture Ereinion was stillness and silence. The idea of marrying someone like Ereinion in the way she wed Elrond, of _him_ being the father of her children, was ridiculous. And yet there she was, living in his house and creating a strange new life with him— the only clear path forward she could find.

Maybe, had things been different, she and Elrond would have sailed together at the end of the age and found the same sort of happiness here that they had there.

But they didn’t.

Instead she sailed too early with chunks of her soul clawed out of her, and when all grew dark it was not Elrond who built the scaffolding to hold her up, but Ereinion Gil-galad— a stranger who quickly became a beloved companion. And even after, when she didn’t need anyone to hold her up anymore, she found she could not leave his side.

So when she saw the aching, haunted look in his eyes when she asked him to be their lover she _hated_ herself with a passion she had never before felt. Foolish, _selfish—_ during the two months he was away she prepared for his return, prepared for when he would look at them with eyes shuttered closed, reject their offer, and leave.

But, _but—_ yesterday morning she woke to find him in their house, in the bed she built for him, sleeping sound. Not rejection, but _acceptance._ And her heart burst into a thousand blinding hopes, all wrapped up in the way he said _my dear,_ in the way he said _you can keep me._

And now that she had him she wasn’t going to let him go, not for anything.

“My dear,” Ereinion murmured, as if her read her thoughts. “I’m very interested in whatever _plans_ you thought up for this morning.”

She snorted. “Ah yes, all my well thought-out plans— In truth, I have no idea.” She looked up to catch his eyes, blushing. “I find it’s hard to make plans when I don’t know your preferences.”

He shrugged in return, fingers tapping his breastbone. “I don’t know what my preferences are, to be honest. I am very different than who I was when I last had a sexual partner, and…” He ran a hand through his loose hair, turning away to the stream. “And you are more than that. You both are.”

“Hmm. Then we shall have to discover what you do like.” She replied, and in a moment of mischievousness shifted up to straddle his lap. His thighs tensed under her, strange and yet familiar. She had a flashback to when they went swimming for that first time, circling each other in the water. “This good?”

He chuckled. “No half-measures, it would seem. Yes, this is good.” His hands ran up under her shift to her thighs, resting there still as stones. Still waiting, it would seem, even with an elf splayed out on his lap for the taking.

She smirked. “When have we ever settled for half-measures?” She cupped his face, tipping his jaw up. Between her legs she felt him twitch.

He yielded and exposed his neck, his hands tightening on her skin. “Ngh—” Perhaps that had once been a reply, but her hand drifting up to clutch tight in his hair cut it short.

“Good?” She asked, and rolled her hips against him, feeling him swell in his leggings. Leaning down, she sucked a bruise into that pale neck.

“ _Ah,_ yes—” He gasped. “ _Oh_ , Celebrían, come _here—_ ” and finally he reached out, dug his fingers into her hair and drew her mouth down to his, open and wet.

Then, _then_ they caught flame, his hands tugging her shift up and over her head and her own finding the lacings to his leggings— clothes disappeared somewhere in the grass, hands warming where the breeze cut sharp against their skin. His mouth found a deep scar at her collarbone and he followed it down, tracing a burning path to her breast. She arched into him, her hand finding its own clever way down to where his cock stood flushed against the pale skin of her thigh. He joined her, “Here, like _this,”_ and showed her how to grip, how a quick twist could make his jaw go slack, his eyes flutter closed— and then his hand gentled against her, fingers slipping inside to work magic along her spine— their hips rocked together, learning a new kind of pleasure.

She spread him out on the grass beneath her, his chest heaving like a bellows and he threw his head back, his body becoming one taunt bowstring.

“Is this good?” She laid one palm flat against his breastbone and with the other she held his cock, letting the crown _just_ brush between her legs.

“ _Yes—”_ He jerked, pressing up against her.

She planted her knees in the ground on either side of him and with one smooth motion took him in. _Oh—_ She paused, gasping, the hard length of him fluttering deep inside her. Her hands clutched at his hips and she gulped for air.

“Celebrían?” He leaned up on one elbow and she could feel his hips shudder beneath her, little desperate ticks from holding himself still.

“Yes, just— one moment—” She bit her lip and forced herself to relax and let her body adjust. Ereinion wasn’t much bigger than Elrond, but apparently enough to count where her body was concerned.

One of his hands held her hips steady while the other soothed along her thigh, tracing circled in her skin. His thumb drifted down, pressing between the slick folds to where her pleasure grew sharp—

She ground down against him, taking his cock deeper— he thrust up, meeting her and together they discovered a slow, honey-sweet rhythm. He watched her with opal-bright eyes, biting his lip to hide his delighted smile.

“ _Celebrían—”_ He said her name with such reverence, like a diamond falling from his tongue.

Panting, she leaned down to catch his mouth, clumsy and wet and _exactly_ what she needed— and then she broke, crying out, her pleasure peaking like a strike of lightning over her. She felt his answering moan against her shoulder, muffled against her skin—his own pleasure followed a half-step behind and he spilled inside her, eyes shut tight.

The world came back in pieces, after— the sun toasting her back and calves, Ereinion’s chest and neck blotchy with a dusky red blush. Bliss, pure and simple, steeped like strong, dark tea in her chest. She slumped over him, wincing as his cock slipped from inside her. “You’re going to have to carry me in,” she mumbled against his collarbone. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He coughed, his throat hoarse. “If you think my legs are functional then you’re sorely mistaken.” He wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight. The other slipped down between her legs, his fingers circling around her flushed, quivering folds. She groaned, aftershocks spiking through her.

“You’re not helping,” she slurred.

“I don’t think that’s the point,” he replied. “Besides, I don’t think breakfast is going to be ready until “mid-afternoon,” is that right?” One agonizing finger nudged deeper inside, drawing out her pleasure even further.

“Elrond is a— _ah—_ tease and knows I get hungry after sex. He’ll have something worked out.” She grumbled, her hips betraying her and jerking against Ereinion’s fingers.

Ereinion shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling quite satiated.” And he lifted his slick fingers to his mouth, licking them clean.

She gaped up at him. “That might just be one of the _filthiest_ things I’ve ever seen, Ereinion Gil-galad.”

He chuckled, pink tongue darting out to catch a stray smear on his lips. “I think I have a right to indulge myself after a few thousand years of wanting, beloved.”

She laughed. “I suppose so. By the Valar, I hope the twins stay away for at least a little while longer. We’re going to be in no state to receive them.” She rolled off his chest, flailing around in the grass for her shift and underclothes. “Well, come on then. We better see about that breakfast.”

 

Elrond did have breakfast waiting for them when they returned, though perhaps the slices of fried meat were a little more burnt than usual. Celebrían noticed that their little patch of grass by the river was _just_ visible from the kitchen window and thought that it was probably a miracle that they had any breakfast at all, never mind a little crispiness.

Elrond herded them around the kitchen, pointing out the various pots and pans filled with meat and roasted vegetables. Fresh fruit juice sat on the counter, glinting like stained glass. Tea steamed up from a line of mugs. Elrond kept his kisses chaste, but his hands almost couldn’t help themselves, lingering on Celebrían’s side or Ereinion’s back, caressing down.

She could tell Elrond was trying desperately not to be clingy, to give them space if they wanted it. She could also tell, however, how delighted he was, how pleased. She thought that maybe his face on Erestor and Glorfindel’s wedding was a cousin or near kin to his face now, but in truth, this was a side to him that she hadn’t seen before. He glowed with satisfaction, almost as if he had brought them to pleasure himself.

Before, she feared that perhaps there might have been a little awkwardness from him, at least in the beginning. Out of the three of them, however, he slipped into their new arrangement the easiest. She suspected, deep down, he had always wanted this, wanted what they were building now. Ereinion in their house, with them. Would it become _his_ house too? That felt right, felt like fate, or at least as close to fate as mere elves could comprehend.

They ate out in the sunroom, Ereinion squished between them on the couch with Elrond’s legs thrown over their laps. Celebrían, used to this, used his calves as a table and balanced her plate on them. Ereinion looked down on those legs like they were some sort of revelation, still caught up in the newness of being close, of having the permission to touch as much as he wanted. She suspected breakfast was going to be a rather quick affair.

Even so, she settled into the faded velvet of the couch and took a deep breath, enjoying the quiet and warmth. Her hips ached, her skin buzzing with a sweet afterglow. Ereinion’s side, still tacky with sweat against her arm, pressed and released against her as he breathed—steady, sure. She ran her hand along the light dusting of hair on Elrond’s calves, feeling the hum of life beneath. Her old fatigue, so present, flicked its long tail in her direction and she wondered if she could convince Ereinion to leave off the passion in favor of a nap in the sun. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, and when she paused to examine herself she found that she was more tired than she originally thought. Her _want_ for rest was quickly becoming _need._ Her eyes drooped slightly, a nap curled against a sun-warm elf becoming more and more appealing.

But first— Elrond deserved a little chastisement.

“Did you have a good morning, love?” She leaned over Ereinion to meet Elrond’s eyes.

“It was rather pleasant, yes,” he replied, nonchalantly stirring his cup of tea.

“It was a rather beautiful morning, wasn’t it? Did you get to see the sunrise?” She replied, keeping her voice light.

“I didn’t,” Elrond said archly. “I didn’t really have a chance to look outside, so busy was I with breakfast.”

Ereinion snorted into his glass of orange juice. Ah, so he noticed the kitchen window too.

“Pity,” she said. “It was rather lovely view.”

Ereinion dissolved into giggles, choking on a mouthful of fruit juice.

Elrond glared at him. “I’m sure I don’t know _what_ you find so funny—”

The front door opened.

“Mom? Dad? We’re home!”

Elrond flinched, nearly upending Celebrían’s breakfast, and Ereinion shot a look to her, panicked.

“Here, here—” she hissed, drawing his hair over the bruise on his neck. “Do I look—”

And before the three of them could even begin to overcome their shock Elladan and Elrohir tramped into the sunroom. Elrohir didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but Celebrían caught Elladan’s eyes widening before his face fell carefully flat.

“Oh! Good morning to you too, Gil-galad!” Elrohir said cheerfully. “We’re just stopping by the drop off our stuff—we’re meeting Lindir in the village today but wanted to say hello beforehand.”

The alarm on Elrond’s face was quickly subsumed by the wide grin that always took over his face at the sight of his sons. “Will you be home for dinner?” He asked.

“Probably,” Elladan replied, his sharp gaze running over them.

“There’s some breakfast left over if you want it,” Celebrían managed to say without cracking. Next to her Ereinion sat stock-still, juice still half-raised to his lips. She noticed Elladan watching him, something secret passing between them.

“Sure! But we have to get moving quick, we’re already a little late. We’ll take it with us.” Elrohir replied, and turned to go to the kitchen.

Elladan stayed a half-second longer. “An elegant solution,” he said to Ereinion, low enough that Elrohir couldn’t hear. The half-smile playing on his lips bloomed into something soft and tender. “I’m so happy for you,” he said, his voice full of enough warmth to fill the room. Then he turned to follow Elrohir into the kitchen.

All the air left Ereinion’s lungs in a great rush and he sagged against the couch, limp. He shut his eyes, a hesitant but real smile growing on his face.

“Well, the twins know now,” Elrond huffed, wry. “At least we won’t have to go through the stress of figuring out a good way to tell them.”

“Elrohir noticed too?” Celebrían asked.

“Oh no, not that I saw. Elladan will tell him once they’re out of earshot and then when they come back home tonight he’ll be unusually quiet for the first half-hour of dinner before getting used to the idea. Elladan, it seems, is already on board.” Elrond sipped his tea and grimaced down into the mug. “This needs some liquor in it.”

“Agreed,” Celebrían sighed, leaning over to put her plate somewhere safe before slumping back against the couch. “Elrond, I blame you— Erestor tells me you never learned how to properly knock and now we’re receiving our recompense.”

“Eh, I suppose that is my fault.” Elrond conceded.

The front door opened again and they heard the twins call out, “Bye Mom! Bye Dad! We’ll see you soon!” before they left and the house was once more theirs alone.

“Ereinion?” Elrond looked over at Ereinion, who silently contemplated the intricate weave at the fringe of Elrond’s robe. He hadn’t said anything since the twins arrived, presumably thinking about what Elladan said. “Ereinion, are you alright?” Elrond placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“Yes.” He replied, and a sudden star-bright smile stretched his mouth wide. “You know, it seems more real now? This, whatever this is? Ai, _Elrond_ —” And he grasped Elrond’s face and hauled him up into a searing kiss.

“Mph—!” Elrond flailed for a moment before throwing his arms around Ereinion’s neck, clambering up into his lap.

Celebrían watched, amused. When Elrond finally came up for air, panting hard, he turned to her with a slightly dazed smile. “Well,” he said, placing a hand to his heart. “That was a rather, uh, adventurous morning, I suppose.”

Ereinion played with the fringe on Elrond’s robe, slipping his fingers beneath it. “The morning’s not over yet,” he said. “They said they’ll be home for dinner?”

“Ereinion, does danger _— ngh—_ arouse you?” Elrond bit his lip, his eyes lowering.

“No,” he replied. “This is a previously thought-out response to one, your tendency to be a tease, and two, a sudden guarantee that we won’t be interrupted until evening.” His hand drifted higher, a wicked smile curling his lips. He pinched Elrond’s thigh, receiving an actual _squeak_ in return. “Celebrían, would you care to join?” He turned to her, an old tactician’s glint in his eye.

“Mmm, sounds like a promising proposition.” She looked over to Elrond, who had gone preternaturally still. Her husband’s eyes glinted, his lips parted with shallow breaths. Beneath his robe she could see his cock, already standing hard up against the fabric. Ereinion hadn’t even touched him yet, his hand rubbing his thigh in light circles. Ai, even in her occasional weariness Elrond always looked _so_ _tempting_. His dark hair in waves over his shoulders, the collar of his robe slipping, _slipping—_ perhaps her fatigue could be kept at bay for a few moments longer. She grinned. “I think I’ll accept.”

 

~*~

 

Ereinion

 _I’m so happy for you._ Ereinion blinked.

And, just like that, something of the great weight constricting his chest subsided. Elladan’s silver-grey eyes, crinkled at the edges with fondness and relief— they looked straight through to the heart of him, slowly peeling back layers of scars and soothe his trembling insides.

And now, _now—_ now Elrond sat squirming in his lap, amber eyes lit with a low, smoldering fire _—_

And Ereinion couldn’t help the thrill that shot through him, the low growl building in his throat. He inched his hand higher, his thumb teasing along the crease of Elrond’s hipbone. _Oh_ , by all that was good and holy— Elrond kept hitching up further, kept spreading his legs wider around Ereinion’s hips, his robe rucking up around his thighs. Suddenly the couch seemed far too small, too _flimsy_ for what he wanted—

Ereinion glanced to Celebrían, wondering if she could see the heat in his eyes, wondering what she looked like when she looked at _them—_ and instead saw something pensive pacing the space behind her gaze. He paused, considering its origin. Her eyes met his and flickered. He held them for a moment before turning back to Elrond, who was slowly falling apart under his hands, panting into the crook of his neck.

“Go wait for us upstairs,” Ereinion whispered in his ear, releasing him. “I’m going to have a moment alone with Celebrían and then we’ll come to you.”

Elrond nodded, flushing, and stood on unsteady legs. “Don’t leave me for too long,” He teased, and turned to Celebrían to press a quick kiss to her mouth. Then he walked up the stairs as fast as he could without falling over.

Celebrían nestled close to Ereinion, twisting around to lay her head against his shoulder. “Sending him away so quickly?” she asked. “It looked like you were having a good time.”

“I don’t want to ruin your couch,” he replied, smiling at her answering snort.

“So you’ll ruin my bed?” she retorted, her breath warm on his shoulder. Her arm curled around his bare stomach, brushing the edges of his scars.

“Perhaps,” he said and turned to nuzzle her hair. “Though I’d prefer it if we ruined it together.” Her hair smelled like mint and athelas, like the dusty scent of bird’s wings. Together their skin looked like patchwork, cobbled together— her silver-purple slashes cutting up against his deep burgundy burn. “You gave me an interesting look just now,” he murmured in her hair, excitement turning away to contemplation. “As much as this isn’t a question to… invoke _desire_ —” She laughed at that—“What’s on your mind?”

He felt her answering hum reverberate through his skin. “Let’s go upstairs to Elrond, though you will forgive me if I take a more secondary role.”

This, then, was the source of her earlier quiet. He pulled back, turning her shoulders to face him. “Is this too much? Are we going too fast?” He asked, worry creasing his brow. He remembered her earlier words from yesterday, her refusal to join them any further than a hand tangled in his hair.

“It’s a little much, at least for right now.” She replied, her voice steady and even despite her words. “It is as I said, I am much slower to passion than I once was.”

The high excitement dimmed and he stilled. “Celebrían?”

“Hush,” she said, pressing a few cool fingers to his lips. “There is nothing wrong. You have learned who I am in silence and peace, now you must learn who I am in passion as well.” She chuckled. “And, perhaps, learn that these two aspects are remarkably similar. Ai, I expect anxiousness and concern from Elrond, but you have known me in my… my aftermath much longer— you should know by now how my body works.”

“Would you like to rest, then?” He asked, soothing his hands down her arm. Concern tapped along his spine.

She snorted. “And miss this?” Her hands skated around the waistband of his leggings, fingers dipping down that trail of downy blonde hair. She looked down, biting her lip, clever fingers loosening the ties. “I think not. Here, how’s this for a _plan_ : I’ll leave the two of you alone so you can whip my husband into a frenzy, and then I’ll join you later?” and when she looked back up to meet his gaze he saw then the undercurrent of desire threading through her, deep and dangerous as an underground river.

Still, he hesitated. “Is that what you wish?” His hands rose to her face, thumbs tracing the thin skin under her eyes.

“Calm your fears, love,” She said, a firm hand on his breastbone, commanding him.

He relented. Her face softened.

“Ereinion. Trust me. Right now I need a slight rest, but I _want_ this.” Her hand snuck past his waistband and circled his cock, drawing out a low moan from his throat. “I’ll wait for you in our bed. You two can have any other flat surface you desire.”

He laughed, but the suggestion had merit. A quick twist of her wrist ( _fast learner—)_ had his head thrown back against the couch, his neck bare to her mouth.

She nipped hard at his collarbone, sharp teeth leaving a smarting red circle. Apparently her dislike of biting only went so far as her own skin— _ah—_ “Go to him,” She murmured, soothing the bruise with her tongue. “Have your pleasure of him. Then come to _me.”_ Then, with a final kiss, she released him and rose from the couch.

As she stood above him he was struck for a blinding moment with her stark, unwavering beauty. Truly, he could only claim to have borrowed his crown when such as she lived in the world. _Celebrían._ Silver queen.

He followed, reaching out to catch her hand. She took it, threading their fingers, and together they walked up the stairs. As they climbed the steps she fell back into silence, but the steady pressure of her palm against his kept worry from creeping back into his heart. Ai, it was going to take a long time to understand each other, even now.

For thousands of years he had only loved one elf. He thought, by this point, that he was too old to change much. There would be no other to whom he would give his heart.

And then the most unlikely of elves proceeded to prove him very, very wrong.

Ai, Celebrían— if Elrond was the sun of his life then she was the answering banner of stars, unfurling in splendor over him. They still had so far to go, he knew, in learning to live together, in discovering what he would become to them and their family— but he _loved_ her, in a way he thought he could never love again. How curious, to love so deeply so quickly, but he thought that perhaps it had been a long time coming. And to find her love without the loss of his love for Elrond! A wonder untold— perhaps a wonder that Aman would never see again. And for such a blessing to come to _him—_ Ai, he was unworthy of it.

A thump and the swish of water echoed through the hallway.

“Ah, Elrond is in the washroom,” Celebrían noted, nodding to the door at the end of the hall. “Good. I suspect he would have been stubborn if I had tried to rouse him from the bed.”

He laughed softly in return. “Too true, beloved. Here,” he opened the door to their room, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Enjoy your rest.”

“Hmm,” She smiled up at him. “I will. And thank you, Ereinion. For understanding.”

He nodded.

They stood there for a moment longer, watching each other. The house creaked around them, the rustle of living bodies playing a low, content sort of music. She kissed him once on the mouth, then turned away into the sun-soaked peace of the bedroom.

Ereinion closed the door behind her and went to find Elrond.

 

“Elrond?” Ereinion knocked on the door to the washroom.

“Yes?” Elrond opened the door, peeking around the edge up at Ereinion. “Where’s Celebrían?” he asked, glancing around behind Ereinion to the empty hallway.

“Resting,” Ereinion replied. “She said to join her later.”

A frown flitted briefly across his face. “Everything alright?”

Ereinion leaned against the threshold, watching the crease deepen between Elrond’s brow. “Yes, or so she tells me. Either way she won’t be pleased with us if we worry.”

“Hmm.” Elrond sighed, mirroring Ereinion and leaning against the wall. “She knows herself,” he said, almost more as an assurance to himself than to Ereinion.

“She does indeed,” Ereinion replied, watching the tension trickle off Elrond’s shoulders.

There was something new here, or perhaps something old with a new coat of paint. Ereinion found that when he looked to Elrond’s face and saw him thinking about his wife, he no longer felt the need to look away. He could just _watch,_ watch all these beautiful new facets appear like minnows darting up from the bottom of a pool, and enjoy the beauty without an echo of pain. “Ai, aren’t we a mess?” he mused, watching Elrond chew the inside of his cheek. “Look at how we stumble around each other.”

Elrond smirked, drawn out of his thoughts. “Indeed. Did she say when, exactly to join her?”

“Later.” He reached out to tuck Elrond’s hair back. “She said we could have a little time to ourselves, if we wished. Or, if you so desire, we could probably join her now, so long as it’s for a nap.”

“I’m wound a little tight for a nap, I think.” And if it were possible Elrond looked even more disheveled now than he had on the couch, the blush on his cheeks creeping down his neck. “I— uh, here—” and he pushed a small stoppered vial into Ereinion’s palm.

“Oil, Elrond?” Ereinion examined the vial.

“I thought, maybe—we—” Elrond stuttered. Actually stuttered, his silver-tongued councilor.

“I know what it’s for, beloved.” Ereinion replied, amused.

Elrond huffed. “Well, _of course,_ ” Ah, now the old sarcasm dripped back into his voice, but it did nothing to cover the slight tremble or the way his hands folded and twisted in his robe, blush deepening.

Ereinion reached out and traced the sliver of exposed skin over Elrond’s breastbone. Between the two of them, he knew, Elrond might _look_ more unraveled, but it would be a lie to assume that he was more undone than Ereinion himself. Ereinion’s blood _burned_ beneath his skin. “Perhaps, love,” he said, voice dropping low. The glass vial glinted in his palm, light gold oil swirling inside. But— “We could work our way up to it, in time. I would not want to hurt you, nor push you too far so quickly. Perhaps later?” Ai, and it nearly killed him to say those words, to pull back from the haze of lust threatening to cloud his vision.

But Elrond only rolled his eyes. “Ereinion. I might have been a virgin when I wed, but Celebrían and I have been married for _thousands_ of years. You think, in all that time, we never experimented? I’ve done this before.”

Ereinion froze. He hadn’t thought of _that._ “Have you now?” He growled, slipping into Elrond’s space, finally reaching out to grasp the fabric of Elrond’s robe, twisting it in his fists.

Elrond arched against him, opening up— “Y-yes—”

“ _That_ is something that I’ll need to hear about later,” Ereinion dipped down to whisper in Elrond’s ear, voice returned to its old kingly command. “In _detail._ For now, however—” And he hauled Elrond out into the hallway, vial toppled over on the counter, and slammed him up against the wall.

Elrond met Ereinion with a _filthy_ moan, hands clawing at his shoulders and hair, hips rutting up hard against his thigh— Ereinion yanked Elrond’s head back by his hair, viciously pleased with how Elrond’s pale throat leapt with a hissed gasp, how quickly he yielded. Ereinion held him there, hand clenched tight in the hair at the nape of his neck, pinning him— and he took his fill of the sight, of Elrond’s shaking knees, his flushed breast, letting it seep down deep in the spaces between Ereinion’s bones— _yes anything you ask yes—_

“Elrond,” He murmured, leaning down to cage that lithe body in his arms, to skim his lips over the delicate tip of a pointed ear.

Elrond shivered, as quick to pleasure as he was to devotion, teeth sharp against Ereinion’s neck. “ _Beloved—”_ He managed to get his hands and mouth off Ereinion long enough to undo the ties on his robes, letting them fall to the floor. “These, Ereinion,” he pulled at the leggings. “ _Now.”_

Ereinion obeyed, stripping off the rest of his clothes— and then for a moment they paused, naked in front of each other. All the air in the hallway left in one sucked-in breath. Ereinion swallowed, mouth gone dry. All his earlier confidence fled as Elrond reached out, so achingly soft, and traced the edges of the handprint on Ereinion’s chest. Ereinion leaned hard on his elbows against the wall, breath punched out of him, bracketing Elrond but not touching save for those gentle fingertips on his skin.

“ _Elrond—”_ He felt the tremor build between his shoulder blades, felt something like terror pressing down on his chest. He _wanted—_ he _couldn’t—_

Elrond simply looked up and met his eyes, his face clear as a spring of water. Then he leaned forward and pressed his naked body close, pale skin to ravaged red scar, and gave himself up to his King.

Earlier frenzy condensed into sensuous languor. Elrond wrapped his legs around Ereinion’s hips, arms thrown around his neck, the dark sweep of his lashes trembling. Ereinion held him up, rolling his hips up slow, and took his time exploring the taste of Elrond’s mouth, the feel of their cocks brushing velvet-light against each other. Ai, his skin was so _soft—_ the feel of it stirring all those roiling storms along his spine. Together they banked the fire building between them, learning new planes of skin and sucking new bruises in tender corners.

“What fate was it that brought you to me? How—” Ereinion whispered to the crook of Elrond’s neck, awe-struck. “How is it that one such as you exists? What star fell to earth and made _you_? What did I do to deserve—” He was babbling, he knew, but something hot pricked at the corners of his vision and he couldn’t help the words any more than he could help the shaking spider-webbing over his back, down his arms— “ _Swear_ to me, give me your oath, _Elrond—”_

Elrond jerked back, eyes wide. “Do you mean it?” He breathed, pupils blown out wide.

Ereinion swallowed. “Yes.” Oh, that word on his tongue, _saying_ it out loud— he felt his face heat, felt like he swallowed the sun—

“Yes, my lord, my King, _yes—”_ Elrond made to kneel, loosening his legs from Ereinion’s hips, but Ereinion held him still.

“Don’t kneel,” He said, hands tight on Elrond’s thighs. “Like this, just like this.” And he pressed close, pushing them flat up against the wall. He could feel Elrond’s heart pounding through his skin.

Elrond nodded and took a deep, steadying breath. “By Eru Ilúvatar, before whom this sanctuary is holy,” he began, meeting Ereinion’s eyes. Citrine-amber flashed. “I will to Ereinion Gil-galad be true and faithful—”

Ereinion felt tears spill down his cheeks, heart breaking. He lifted a quavering hand to brush Elrond’s lips, to feel the words forming there.

And Elrond’s hands rose to Ereinion’s cheeks, catching tears, and as he continued his voice cracked. “And I will love all that he loves and shun all that he shuns, submitting myself to his will. With these words I bind myself to him as my lord and King— this I, Elrond Peredhel, so swear.”

And _there,_ it was done, _it was done—_

Ereinion hid his face in Elrond’s shoulder and Elrond wrapped all his long limbs around him in return, clinging close. Ereinion could feel their chests moving in tandem, their breaths matching.

“I never thought to have you,” he whispered to Elrond’s skin. “Not even in my wildest fantasies and hopes.”

Elrond went still, his whole body listening.

“I knew that crown was going to eat me alive, bit by bit. And it did— by the time I fell at Barad-dûr it was already chewing on the cracked remnants of my bones. I would not, _could_ not bind you to me and let it devour you as well.” He closed his eyes, breathing in the sharp taste of salt on Elrond’s skin.

“Your crown is buried in Lindon,” Elrond replied, nestling closer. “You can have me now.”

And Ereinion hid his face in Elrond’s neck and let that great, terrible truth stitch itself up like a tapestry through his spine, finally weaving in the secret spaces of his body. And where once the air had left the hallway now it returned, a great sigh sifting through them. A broken piece of fate slipped back in place. _Oh_ , all the long years, all the long days and nights— and _now—_ now he opened his mouth against Elrond’s skin and lapped up the salt and sweat, the two of them aligning like stars— and who could have known? What fate was it that turned its great eye to Ereinion Gil-galad and took pity on a miserable, lonely elf? Who was it that decided to give him all he ever wanted and _more—_

“I’m going to put my seal in your ear again,” Elrond was saying. “I already have a cuff made, do you know? It’s tucked away in the back of my desk drawer.”

“Ai, my love, _slow down_.” Ereinion pulled back, laugh splintering in his throat. “I will hardly know how to find my feet if you drive me one step further.”

Elrond chuckled, tightening his legs around Ereinion. “I cannot find it in myself to be sorry for doing so.”

Ereinion nipped at his collarbone, scolding. “Already such a rebellious vassal,” He murmured, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Give an old elf time to adjust. I’ve gone from near-eternal loneliness to having not one but _two…_ lovers? What are you going to call yourselves?”

“We should ask Celebrían,” Elrond replied. “She is the wisest among us.”

“Hmm, agreed.” Ereinion nosed along the ridge of Elrond’s jaw, not knowing how joy could feel so sharp. He thought of Celebrían then, lying out in the paned sunlight of the bed down the hall. He wondered if she could hear them, if she _wanted_ to hear them, if she was getting any rest at all— Then, gently, he let his hand drift down from Elrond’s hip to his ass. “First, I think…” He whispered to the skin behind Elrond’s ear, grinning as one great shiver worked its way from the top of Elrond’s head down to his toes.

“Ereinion—” Elrond stammered, searching for his voice. “ _Ah—”_

Ereinion slipped one finger inside, finding Elrond already slick and relaxed. “You shameless thing, is _this_ what you got up to while we were downstairs?” and he pressed a second finger in next to the first, Elrond’s words disintegrating in a shaking groan.

“ _Fuck,_ Ereinion, I’m _ready,_ please—” Elrond grit out, jaw clenched tight.

“Please _what,_ dearest?” Ereinion grinned, enjoying the feeling of Elrond writhing on his fingers.

“Oh, _damn_ you—” Elrond snarled, head thrown back with a _thunk_ against the wall.

Ereinion angled his hips up hard, lifting Elrond up and trapping him between his body and the wall. His cock pressed up against the crease of Elrond’s ass, teasing. “What was that I heard earlier about submitting yourself to my will?” He taunted, a third finger working its way in with the other two.

Elrond’s hips stuttered, thrusting his cock up against Ereinion’s belly. “You _bastard,_ I take it all back, I’ve made a _terrible mis—”_

Ereinion twisted his fingers, drawing a keening _wail_ up out of Elrond’s throat. “Hush love, I have you,” He whispered, soothing a hand under Elrond’s shaking thighs. Then, slowly, he withdrew his fingers.

“Why—?” Elrond glared daggers at him, the effect rather muted by the haze in his eyes.

“One moment.” Ereinion shifted, reaching around the open washroom door to grab the vial of oil. “Now, I think, we should join Celebrían.”

And Elrond’s eyes grew wide with realization, the crimson flush in his cheeks deepening.

“Come now, beloved,” Ereinion said, “She’s waiting for us.” And he carried Elrond down the hall.

 

~*~

 

Elrond

Elrond supposed there were worse things than being dumped, unceremonious and naked, on a bed next to your wife.

Celebrían was dozing when they came in, the same sort of not-quite sleep she took when their children were small and she still wanted to keep half-watch over them. That was Elrond’s first thought, anyway, at least until Ereinion tossed him on the bed and he got a closer look at the pink stain under her half-lidded eyes, the subtle bite marks on her lips.

“Hmm,” She stretched, a pleased feline grin stretching over her face. “Now _this_ is a nice sight.” Her eyes lingered over them, Elrond spread out and quivering next to her, Ereinion climbing up the other side of the bed to curl around Elrond’s back.

Elrond smiled, reaching out to draw her close. “I should think so, love.” He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, lust and passion fading for a brief moment. “Ereinion told me you wanted rest?” Ai, as much as he trusted his wife he still worried about her, fluttering around like a distressed mother hen. He thought she probably found it annoying, if sweet.

He felt her reverberating chuckle against his skin. “Yes, dearest. Just for a little while. You may calm whatever distressed thoughts you have galloping around your head.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I felt a little wild for a time, but the good kind. It’s all been a little overwhelming, hasn’t it?”

Elrond conceded. “Perhaps a little,” he shrugged.

She laughed at him, and her bright smile chased away his lingering doubts. “What, Elrond, is this another walk in the woods for you?”

“No,” he replied, her teasing mollified by Ereinion’s hand running down his flanks. “But I would not describe it as overwhelming, per say. Exciting, maybe.”

Ereinion snorted in laughter behind him. “To say that I’m feeling overwhelmed would be an understatement,” he said, nosing Elrond’s hair. “You ridiculous creature.”

Elrond sighed in return and leaned back into Ereinion, still feeling the tacky remnants of tears in the creases of his fingers. The vow rang in his head like a bell. He hadn’t felt overwhelmed, not even then. Just good. Right. The world in accord.

Celebrían’s hand joined Ereinion’s to twine over Elrond’s hip. “I have a feeling, Elrond, that you worked out all your stress in the year of the Fellowship and now have no ability to feel it at all. You must be patient with us fragile folk.”

Elrond hummed in assent, everything in him going pliant and soft. He felt a fierce protectiveness over them, even when he was the one held safe between their arms. A warm glow suffused through him, through the room.

And then Ereinion bit down hard on the nape of his neck and Elrond yelped, his ability to speak snuffed out. Ereinion’s body brushed _just so_ over his back, cock tapping up against the back of his thighs. He was being a vicious tease and Elrond was about ready to throttle him save for the fact that Celebrían was now angling her body closer, her shift rucking up over her thighs. The warm room suddenly blazed hot.

Then, almost as if they were speaking a language he couldn’t understand, the two of them folded Elrond up between them, skin to skin to _oh—_ Celebrían drew her shift up over her shoulders and tossed it over the side of the bed before settling back against his side, cleaving close.

He watched, dazed, as she leaned up over him to capture Ereinion’s mouth in a searing kiss, that unspoken secret communication flashing once more over his head. It was like watching a meteor shower, or a comet leap up over the horizon— the kind of thing you watched holding your breath, unblinking. Celebrían’s hair fell in a tangle over her bare shoulders and Ereinion licked up into her mouth with a fierce, aching desire. And _now_ Elrond felt overwhelmed, overcome by their extraordinary grace, arcing over him like a storm-cloud at sunset— Ai, could his heart hold such tenderness and gratitude? In the back of his head Elrond heard Elros laugh, saw his proud, mischievous smile. _Greedy Elrond— couldn’t just have a silver queen, but you needed a king as well?_ Ai, and he did, didn’t he? He _needed—_

 _Oh,_ then they turned their gaze as one to him and pinned him with their mithril-bright eyes— a wicked, predatory smile mirrored on their faces. He gulped.

And then they set about taking him apart, piece by piece.

And Elrond could only lay there and _take it,_ let them _use_ him however they wanted, yielding to their whims— they weren’t more than a half minute in before Elrond couldn’t do much more than tremble, gasping into the crook of Celebrían’s neck. Ereinion had three fingers back in his ass, pumping and curling inside him— his other arm wrapped around them both, pillowing Elrond’s listless head on his shoulder and Celebrían’s on his forearm. Elrond could feel Ereinion’s lips brush over his neck, the light scrape of teeth striking his skin alight. Celebrían had a lazy sort of smile on her face as she nipped at his collarbone, sucking hard on a tender pink nipple. He kept wanting to move against her, to meet her mouth, but Ereinion held him transfixed, balanced on a blade’s edge of pleasure. Ai, ever had he placed his life in his King’s hands, but _this—_

Celebrían left his neck and chest smarting and tender— her lips plush with kisses. She pulled back to fist her hand loosely around his cock, letting Ereinion do most of the work of pushing him up into her palm— giving him _just_ enough friction to choke the breath from his throat but not enough to bring him closer to release— and then her other hand drifted down to take Elrond’s hand and press it up between her legs. She was already _dripping_ , slick running down her thighs— _what was she doing while they were in the hall?—_ and Elrond tried, he really did, to bring her to pleasure, but at that moment Ereinion’s fingers withdrew and Elrond froze, eyes snapped open wide—

“Are you ready, love?” Ereinion asked, pulling Elrond flush against him.

Elrond moaned, his throat ragged. “ _Ngh— yes—”_

And then Ereinion thrust inside in one smooth drive, sending dragon-fire blazing up his spine— and if that weren’t enough Celebrían slung a leg over their hips and, taking his cock, drew him up into the tight, wet heat of her, rolling against him in time with the agonizing motion of Ereinion’s cock and the low growl of Ereinion’s voice commanding _Come for us, Elrond,_ after that he was gone gone gone _gone—_ oh, absolutely _lost._

 

Breakfast plates lay forgotten in the sunroom. The patches of light in the eastern windows receded, then grew again in their western twins. On the bed upstairs Elrond lay, naked and trembling with aftershocks. His lips were bitten red, his skin flushed and mottled with bruises. Celebrían sat next to him, soothing a hand along his thigh. Ereinion returned from the washroom, carrying a glass of water.

“Here,” he said, lifting Elrond’s head and holding the glass to his lips. “Drink.”

Elrond managed about a gulp and a half before slumping back down. “I think you _broke_ me,” he mumbled, and peered out of a narrowed eye to catch a completely smug look passing between the two of them. He huffed, but it was half-hearted.

Ereinion sat down on the edge of the bed next to Celebrían. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder, thoughtful. She kissed his head and leaned against him, her shoulders relaxed and satiated.

Elrond watched them. The wheat-gold of Ereinion’s hair mingled with Celebrían’s silver fall, like the autumn fields dusted with moonlight. Ai, here he was, a little blackbird among eagles and swans. Inwardly his feathers fluffed with pleasure and satisfaction. Somewhere around the corner of his heart Maedhros rolled his eyes. _No peace, Elrond. None at all._ Maglor held his head in his hands, shaking with laughter.

“If this is what you’re going to do to me every time we make love,” Elrond said, half to them and half to the pillow mashed up against his face, “Then I’m never going to be able to leave this room again.”

“We have to make food for the twins,” Celebrían replied, smirking. “I suppose we’ll carry you, or make you one of those wheeled chairs we have for Gwindor and Bilbo.”

“Whatever works,” He conceded.

 

When they finally made it down to prepare dinner for the twins, Elrond made sure to wear a high collared robe and let his hair hang down loose. This worked for the bruises but did little to hide the fact that his legs wanted to give out at any and every opportunity, so Ereinion and Celebrían sat him down in a chair and gave him sweet cream to whisk into a whip for a cake.

The dusky, sweet smell of sage and chamomile steamed up through the kitchen. Under their conversation the crunchy sound of a knife cutting through herbs beat out a steady rhythm. The house creaked in the autumn wind, windows flung open to let the rich, heady scent of the dying grass mingle with frying onions and peppers. The cream lay mostly forgotten in his lap as he watched Celebrían and Ereinion wander around the kitchen. He sighed, so blazingly happy that he felt he could dissolve into pure light.

Ereinion leaned against Celebrían, their voices bright over the hiss and pop of frying things. Elrond caught snippets of their conversation— little observations about the herbs, endearments and teasingings—the ephemera of their lives now shared with another. And somehow this, the simple act of making dinner for Elladan and Elrohir, was a gift all its own. Love and passion, yes, but now quiet and simplicity— like the space between heartbeats lending its silence to the rhythm. In his life with Celebrían he had always thought of these moments as holy, as sacred. And now, with Ereinion’s luminescent presence added to theirs— what a delight, what an _honor._

Elrond thought of how he was going to say _I love you_ to Ereinion. He’d already said it in all the ways that truly mattered, but even so words like that should be said aloud. Not now, perhaps not even soon— everything was still so new, perhaps it was wise to leave this final bridge uncrossed for a time.

Ai, but the words kindled on his tongue even now, easy as the breeze through his hair, as the heartbeat in his chest. Words bright as a thousand simarils and ten thousand times more precious— finally, a worthy gift for his King.

Sooner then, rather than later.

Soon.


	5. Epilogue: Erestor

Erestor

Erestor woke to the sight of Glorfindel leaning half out the open window to sing to the bluebirds about the sunrise. It wasn’t even _close_ to sunrise but he sang anyway, the fool. Really, he was entirely too much sometimes.

“Good morning!” He turned that beaming face towards Erestor, golden hair free falling down his naked back. His chest was flushed with cold from the open window, his smile wide and bright even in the grey shadow of morning, and maybe Erestor could find it in himself to tolerate the early morning foolishness so long as Glorfindel kept looking at him like _that._

“Grmm nirrng.” Erestor grumbled, turning away and burying his face back in his pillow.

“Come now, dearest,” Glorfindel said, and Erestor could feel the bed dip with his weight. “We have to get going! Faelivrin’s meeting us at Elrond’s house and I want to get there early to ask for news from the north before Celebrían gets ahold of her.”

“They’re not expecting us until mid-day,” Erestor replied. “Come back to bed.” And he nuzzled further into the pillow.

“That may be true,” Glorfindel pressed an open kiss to the center of Erestor’s back, a sure way to rouse him from his sleepiness. Erestor growled— Glorfindel was playing dirty. “But!” Glorfindel continued, undeterred. “Faelivrin wrote that she should arrive sometime in the morning. And here I thought I would not see her again until summer! I do not think that Elrond and Celebrían will mind if we are a little over-eager and arrive with her.”

Erestor narrowed his eyes, but allowed himself to be dragged out of bed and into suitable clothing. By the time they were out on the path he still hadn’t forgiven Glorfindel, but at this point it was mostly a playful sort of grumpiness.

The sun rose clear and sharp over the winter countryside, catching periwinkle and pink over the snow. They stomped through the snow, sending puffs of glittering powder up into the air. Glorfindel’s long outer robe trailed behind him, crystal droplets of ice dusting the edges. He looked fey, like a god of ice and snow with his blue eyes and easy grace. Little chickadees and tufted redbirds hopped along in their wake, hoping for treats from Glorfindel, who had made it his single-minded mission to befriend every living thing within a twenty-mile radius of their house. Erestor thought he wouldn’t mind if Glorfindel had just kept it to birds, but squirrels and _mice?_ He grimaced, but wound his cold hand around Glorfindel’s just the same.

They didn’t see Faelivrin on the trail, but that was to be expected. They lived in the south, she in the north, and their paths joined for only a few short miles before coming to Elrond’s house. They could see her single pair of boot-prints in the snow, however, wandering down the path.

Glorfindel examined the prints. “These are a little older than I would have expected! Perhaps she came in last night?”

“I suppose we shall soon find out!” Erestor replied, forging through the trail her boot-prints made to Elrond’s house. “Though if she did arrive last night then she might still be asleep. I blame you if Celebrían scolds us for arriving too early.”

Glorfindel snorted. “As you wish, Counselor.”

Overhead a wispy plume of smoke rose from the chimney, rising higher as they approached. They were awake, then. Faelivrin’s footprints led up to the back door before disappearing inside. When Erestor tried the handle it was, as usual, unlocked, and without bothering to knock they opened the door and went inside.

“My lord?” Erestor called, stamping his boots with Glorfindel crowding up behind him. “My lady are—” But as he turned to look in the kitchen his words abruptly fell away.

Gil-galad stood leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of tea steaming in his hand, a line of _hickeys_ circling his neck before dipping down his bare chest. A bright mithril cuff winked from his right ear, and right below it flashed one of gold. He regarded them with the same sort of amused tolerance he reserved for impudent courtiers and small, yapping dogs.

“You were supposed to arrive later,” He said, and took a sip of his tea.

Behind him Erestor heard Glorfindel choke, though with laughter or shock he couldn’t tell. Erestor just stood frozen, jaw hanging open. _What_ in the name of all that is _holy_ was _going on—_

As if things couldn’t get any worse the answer in the form of a completely _debauched_ Elrond stumbled down the stairs. He went, seemingly unaware of their presence, to nuzzle his nose in the crook of Gil-galad’s neck, draping himself over his chest. The collar of his robe slipped down over his shoulders, revealing— _sweet Eru_ that was a _rainbow_ of a bruise _—_

Gil-galad dipped his head to press a kiss to Elrond’s brow. “We have company, love.” And his eyes glinted with equal parts indulgence for the elf in his arms and wicked delight at the way Elrond now froze, his horrified gaze turning to Erestor and Glorfindel.

“Good morning, my lord!” Erestor heard Glorfindel’s lively voice chirp out from behind him.

Elrond narrowed his eyes. “You know what,” he said. “I’m going to deal with this later.” And he whirled around to stomp back up the stairs.

Gil-galad chuckled, watching him go. “I’m afraid none of us are quite prepared for polite company,” he said, turning back to Erestor and Glorfindel. “But if you would like some tea then the kettle is warm.”

“That would be most welcome, my lord,” Glorfindel replied for the both of them, Erestor’s throat still tied up in outraged knots. “I’ll fetch some mint?” and he popped off to the sunroom, whistling.

“ _What is going on._ ” As soon as he found his tongue Erestor advanced on Gil-galad, snarling. “What have you _done—_ if I find you— that my lady—”

“Peace, Erestor.” Gil-galad held up a hand, smiling fondly at Erestor’s scowl. “There is nothing to fear. These are her work.” And he gestured to the ring of bruises around his neck.

Erestor’s eyes widened, struck dumb. Gil-galad took another sip of his tea and for a long moment they regarded each other. “Then…” Erestor frowned, thinking. “Am I to offer congratulations?” By the Valar, and he thought his relationship with Glorfindel was a scandal.

Gil-galad’s slight smile brightened into a full-blown grin. “Perhaps something like that.”

“Then congratulations, my lord,” Erestor replied, bowing deep. “May you have every happiness—” He hesitated, wondering if the next words on his tongue were appropriate. If not, perhaps Gil-galad still deserved to hear them. When Erestor spoke again it was in a low voice, meant for Gil-galad alone and not for Glorfindel’s eavesdropping ears. “You, of any I have known, deserve the fulfillment of this long-lost hope, and this unexpected happiness besides. I wish you joy of them.”

Gil-galad dipped his head in return, his whole face gone soft and sad even if the smile didn’t fade. “Thank you, Erestor.” He said. “As something like Elrond’s third father, your words are a weight off my shoulders.”

Erestor cocked his head. “Third?”

Gil-galad’s brow creased with old displeasure. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not overly fond of Eärendil.”

A quick, vicious smile quirked the edge of Erestor’s mouth. He thought, perhaps, that he and Gil-galad had more of an understanding than he previously supposed. “There is nothing to forgive, my lord,” he replied, and fluffed back into collar of his coat. “As for your thanks, don’t mention it. Really,” he held up a hand. “Don’t. I suspect my lady will have my ears burning with the tell of it and I don’t care to hear it twice.”

Gil-galad snorted. “I wasn’t planning on it, but as you wish.” He paused, regarding Erestor with a long, even look. “Erestor, I think it’s high time you and Glorfindel called me Ereinion.”

Ereinion. Hm. “You’ll forgive me, my lord,” Erestor replied, “If I forgo your gift in favor of propriety, since no one else in this house seems to have any.”

 _That_ got a laugh out of him, like a great pealing bell. “As you wish!”

Glorfindel returned with the mint, shaking the last of the dripping snow out of his hair as he did so. “ _I’ll_ take that gift, Ereinion, since I am the shameless one between the two of us.” He clapped a hand on Ereinion’s shoulder, beaming. “It’s good to see that you’re finally being properly taken care of.”

Ereinion rolled his eyes, rubbing a particularly stark bruise on his shoulder. “Sure, we’ll call it that.”

A thud sounded from upstairs and Faelivrin made her entrance, ducking down the stairs and dodging a pillow thrown at her head.

“Good morning!” She called to them, chucking the pillow back upstairs. Erestor thought he heard a faint feminine growl from wherever the pillow landed, but he couldn’t be sure.

Faelivrin ignored whoever it was with the pillow and came to stand next to the three of them. “You’re looking rather indecent for company, little brother,” she scolded.

Ereinion shrugged. “It’s not my fault they arrived early. I’ll not abandon my tea for the sake of a few vagrants.”

“You shouldn’t call our guests vagrants,” Celebrían, hastily pinning her hair up, stepped down from the stairs to join them.

“They don’t become guests until mid-day, when they were officially supposed to arrive,” he retorted. Erestor caught the light in his eyes at Celebrían’s presence and prickled, half with suspicion and half with gladness. So it was with his protective nature.

Ereinion looked down at his mug. “As it is, I’m finished with my tea. If you’ll excuse me,” and he left their little circle to disappear upstairs.

Glorfindel threw an arm around Faelivrin’s shoulders, and she leaned into his side, laughing. “I suppose you’ll want to hear the truth of it, then?” she said. “No “how have you been, Faelivrin, tell me of your adventures Faelivrin?””

Glorfindel laughed. “I would hear whatever it is you’d like to tell me. Come,” He took two mugs from the counter and quickly filled them with tea. “Let’s sit and catch up.” And they turned away to the sunroom.

Erestor and Celebrían were left alone in the kitchen.

She turned to him. “Well now, Erestor? What thoughts are running through that mind of yours?”

He rubbed his temples. “Headache thoughts. Ai, Glorfindel woke me too early for this nonsense.”

She chuckled. “Well then, let’s follow the golden twins’ example and catch up. Perhaps a cup of tea and some good conversation will soothe your mind.” And she pulled him away to sit at the kitchen table.

Erestor sat next to her with his back to the hearth, shucking off his coat and letting the blaze finally warm his snow-chilled limbs. Celebrían took her seat next to him with a calm, easy grace. Some old instincts blinked their lizard eyes out at her, looking once more for any signals of pain, of wrongness. There were none, and Erestor shushed his suspicious and distrustful nature. Celebrían sat like an open lily in the sunlight, a healthy blush staining her cheeks from the heat of the fire. She stirred a spoonful of honey into his tea, (ever had she known his secret indulgences) and for a moment they sat in silence, blowing air over their tea to cool it.

“So.” Celebrían broke the silence. “Where to begin?” She ducked her head, suddenly bashful.

A sudden bark of laughter rang from the sunroom— Glorfindel’s no doubt. Erestor thought he heard Faelivrin frantically shushing him, her giggles making that endeavor futile.

Erestor ignored them and took a sip of his tea, letting the mint and honey warm his throat. “Wherever you like. I suspect it will be long in the telling, and after this morning I think nothing you say will shock me.”

She smirked. “Perhaps.” She leaned back against the chair, crossing her legs under her. “I suppose it would be wise to start about seven months ago or so, though there are a few relevant things that happened before then.”

And they sat there before the fire and she told him the whole of it. At some point Elrond slunk downstairs (dressed in a very austere and high-collared robe) and joined them at the table (“It would _not_ be wise to join the two jaybirds in the sun room.”). He spent the majority of that conversation blushing furiously and stuttering his way through various explanations and excuses. Erestor would never admit to enjoying his discomfort, but then again he wouldn’t deny that some of his questions were perhaps a bit more probing than they needed to be.

Ereinion made an appearance last of all, standing at the edge of their circle and sipping tea by the fire. Cautious, quiet.

And now, for the first time, Erestor got a look at the three of them together in a room.

And was surprised to find the sight of them beautiful.

Elrond and Celebrían both had ever lived as stars in Erestor’s mind. They were the most lovely people he had ever seen, save for Elros and Glorfindel and, later, their magnificent children. Now he looked at Ereinion with his sharp eyes and saw in him something new, something to equal Celebrían and Elrond. Erestor suspected it was not so much that he had never noticed Ereinion before, but that Ereinion now chose to reveal himself after so many years. That revelation was rather slow in coming, seeping out in the slope of his shoulders, the increasing ease of his smile and the crinkling of the lines around his eyes. It was a slow sunrise, but Erestor could see now the brilliance of what would later be revealed.

The steam from his tea wisped around him, clear white sunlight filtering through the window. He sipped thoughtfully at it, his lips pursed on the rim of the mug.

Erestor felt Ereinion’s thoughts, if not his eyes, resting on him, searching for Erestor knew not what. Old kingly habits, Erestor supposed, Ereinion keeping his true nature and thoughts hidden even when there was no need. Erestor knew he would not have noticed the heaviness of Ereinion’s thoughts if Erestor himself did not have the same habit— one Glorfindel had gone a long way in breaking, but not far enough, it seemed.

He glanced over to the old King and let Ereinion catch his gaze. They spoke for a few moments in that way, moss green eyes meeting ocean grey. Then, slowly, Erestor opened his gaze to let Ereinion see inside.

Ereinion searched the space behind his eyes, examining and cataloguing. Erestor could feel Ereinion’s mind probing his like a pair of gentle, soft hands, turning Erestor this way and that in the sunlight. Erestor kept expecting that savage jolt of fear and suspicion to strike through him, but it never came. Hm.

Then Ereinion withdrew and returned the gesture, loosening the shades that kept his thoughts hidden. In his eyes Erestor saw a long path filled with great pain. Only at the end did love and company come to comfort him. Ereinion let him see the truth of it, how Elrond and Celebrían burned so, so hot in his heart. Erestor understood then, and thanked Ereinion for his thoughts with a light, nearly unnoticeable nod. Ereinion nodded in return, a small smile gracing his mouth.

Erestor hoped, then, that he and Ereinion might become better friends. He did not often desire friends, much less the hassle of new friendship, but he remembered the young High King’s kindness to him in the early years and found himself desiring it now. He thought that maybe later, after dinner, they might find some time to sit and talk and get to know each other.

Ereinion turned to watch Elrond and Celebrían, and his grey eyes limned in gold with the firelight. Erestor thought then of an old poem he heard once, sung softly during a long, cold watch in the Himring. The moon and stars had been lost behind low clouds for months by then, the only light at night came from the great fires of Morgoth in the distance. Erestor had long forgotten the poet’s name, or how he died, but he remembered the sweet scratch of his voice against the stone, against the ice.

_Your hands hold roses always in a way that says/ They are not only yours; the beautiful changes/ In such kind ways,/ Wishing ever to sunder/ Things and things’ selves for a second finding, to lose/ For a moment all that it touches back to wonder.¹_

Celebrían paused for a moment in her telling, looking up to catch Ereinion’s look. Elrond followed her gaze, and as Erestor watched something like thin lines shimmered between the three of them, like the tracings of a constellation.

Erestor took a sip of his tea and smiled.

Wonder indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.The Beautiful Changes by Richard Wilbur
> 
> If you liked this, then [reblog](http://peasantswhy.tumblr.com/post/167850008746/show-chapter-archive)!


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